Once Upon A Time
by Fanatic482
Summary: CHP 11 is here! Sequel to 'Beyond All Limits'; Sydney and Sark on a private island with one Prophecy goal to fulfill
1. Not A Fairytale

**Story**: Once Upon A Time

**Author**: Steph, aka Fanatic482 (stephanie406@att.net) 

**Disclaimer**: Alias and the characters of the show aren't mine. They belong to JJ Abrams, ABC, Bad Robot Productions, etc etc

**Rating**: PG-13 overall, individual chapters that are R will be marked as such

**Spoilers/Summary**: Sequel to "Beyond All Limits"; General Season 1 Spoilers; Sydney and Sark on a private island with one Prophecy goal to fulfill

**Distribution**: Cover Me, Sarkgasm, Dark Enigma yes; all other please ask first

**Thanks To**: Glenna, Jennifer and Becky for the betas!

**Note:** if you haven't read "Beyond All Limits" yet, you might get confused, so PLEASE go and read that first!

Once upon a time, in a land far away from where she currently found herself imprisoned, there used to be a happy little girl named Sydney Bristow. She had a mommy and a daddy. She even had a sleek gray tomcat named Pepper her daddy had let her bring home from an abandoned cardboard box outside the grocery store. The label 'Free Kittens' was written in permanent marker on one of the flaps and had streaked in the rainstorm earlier that day. She remembered that day so well—her own happy giggling and the satisfying smack of the kiss she'd placed on his cheek, her father's indulgent smile, and her mother's teasing accusation that Jack was spoiling Sydney rotten.

But that had all been before Sydney's childishly perfect world had shattered into a million identical shards when her mother died. It seemed that every time she'd tried to clean up the remains of what had once been the glass bubble she'd lived in, she'd pricked her fingers and bled upon what had once been.

Her life may have started out as "once upon a time," like every fairy tale did, but there was no "happily ever after"—there never would be. She'd just refused to acknowledge or believe it until Danny had died. A murder she couldn't have been more guilty of committing if she'd actually held the gun that had placed the perfectly circular holes in his head. And yet, she'd never lost hope… until now. The now that had her stuck on this isolated island as she'd been for eight days now, alone with Sark and his entourage of three armed men.

However much she disliked the idea, Sydney had to give Sark some credit. He'd managed to make himself scarce in the days since their arrival. Especially given the reason they were here in the first place. She shuddered at the thought. Her mother, who wasn't dead after over twenty years of believing it was so and who had turned out to be the worse kind of spy imaginable, had demanded that Sydney have a child with Sark. It was beyond sick. And very demented, considering that the cause for delivering such an order was based on the scattered rambling 'prophecies' of a, to put it kindly, most likely highly mentally unstable man named Rambaldi. But then again, maybe Sark believed it was just a bunch of hooey too and was putting it off. Either that, she mused, or he was afraid she'd kick his ass if he tried anything.

That thought brought a brief smile to her face. But it didn't stay long. How could it, when one of the guards (she didn't care to know their names) entered the library, the room where Sydney sat in a shadowy corner with a forgotten book sitting across her lap? He seemed to be looking for something. She figured she was what he sought, but wasn't inclined to call to him, knowing he'd spot her when he turned to leave. To her great surprise, he pulled a book out from where it had fallen in between a chair and it's seat cushion, and then turned to leave the room, starting when his eyes met Sydney's.

"Uh…" he stuttered, finally managing to say hello. "Larry," he said by way of introduction, holding out his hand to Sydney once he'd stepped close enough.

She tilted her head sideways, regarding him coolly. Her mind automatically sized him up as her eyes flicked over him, noting the gun strapped to his side. Overall, he was about 6'2", stocky at about 260 lbs., short black hair and pale blue eyes, and extremely wary of her if the nervous swipe of his hands on his shorts was anything to judge by. She found that interesting enough to throw him off balance by smiling and placing her hand in his. He held her hand gently, but his grip was firm as he shook it.

"I'm Sydney, as I'm sure you're more than well aware." She paused, and then changing gears, asked what book it was he was reading as she let go of his hand.

He turned the book so that she could see the cover, and she was mildly surprised to discover it was a book she'd read herself—John Irving's _A Widow For One Year_.

"Interesting choice," she commented, thinking it was a strange reading choice for a guy who made his living off brawn, not brains.

Larry shrugged, explaining it away as something his little sister had read and enjoyed. She'd sent him a copy for his birthday.

She'd always wanted a little sister. "We're trying, Pumpkin," her father had told her, flashing what she now knew had probably been a meaningful smile at her mother before going back to whatever Sydney's comment had interrupted. "There's plenty of time for that, sweetheart," her mother had told her whenever Sydney pestered her.

She'd never gotten that desperately wanted little sister. And now that she knew who her parents had been then, were now, she was grateful that a second child had been spared the same fate that Sydney now held.

"It's a good book," she told him, returning to the present, and he nodded vigorously before catching himself too late in his enthusiasm. He actually flushed and tried to backpedal, to regain his position as the second tier layer of in-command authority. "I, uh, Mr. Sark wanted to see you," he informed her, telling her that she could find him on the beach waiting for her. And then he disappeared into the long shadows caused by the impending dusky sunset.

Sydney sighed, and debated whether to go meet Sark on the beach as she'd been 'requested' to do. She figured that skipping it would just be a postponement of whatever talking or actions were to go down, so she might as well just go ahead and get it over with. She stood, after having carefully book-marked the page she was on in her book and setting it on a side table, and made her way outside the huge house.

As she wandered down the boardwalk (the house was set up and far away from the beach itself), she wondered for whom the house had been built. She couldn't quite see her mother having ordered the building of something so extravagant, so frivolous—10 bedrooms, half as many baths, a state of the art kitchen that was almost the size of her whole apartment back home, a solar generator that powered the electricity, indoor plumbing (as it went without saying), Jacuzzis, glass windows everywhere that extended from floor to ceiling, hardwood oak flooring and every convenience known to mankind. But then again, she didn't really know her mother at all, did she?

Sydney found him sitting on the beach, just as Larry had said. She stood at the end of the boardwalk silently, just looking at him from behind. And she couldn't help but marvel what a few days away from the espionage world had done for him. The first day, he'd worn the typical wrinkle-free yuppie suit she'd grown used to seeing him wear. But gradually, pieces of it had disappeared as the days went by, replaced by more island appropriate clothing, like what he was wearing now—khakis and a loose short-sleeved button down shirt. As she walked towards him, she was even surprised to note that he was barefoot, just as she'd been since the first day.

She was startled when, at 5 or 6 feet away from him, he patted the spot to his left on the beach towel he sat on, an invitation to sit with him. The sand had muffled her footsteps and she hadn't been aware of him turning to watch her approach in his peripheral vision. The knowledge caught her off-guard, as too many things did these days. So when she hesitated to take the final steps towards him, his head turned slightly, his hair ruffling in the salty breeze. "Come. Sit," he told her, his voice oddly melodic and soothing.

So she did. She settled on the towel, trying to maintain a fair amount of distance between their bodies without seeming to be obviously avoiding proximity, but not far enough away to exude avoidance. Impressions are everything, this she knew. He didn't say anything further, so neither did she. And in what could only usually be described as a companionable silence, a mutual agreement to just observe the sunset and not to spoil the moment sooner than necessary, they watched the sun lower over the distant horizon, a submersion of a fiery glowing ball into the endless ocean.

Sydney turned her head to look at him, intent on observing the profile of the man that was supposed to father her child (to ensure the safety of those she loved), and wondered who was going to broach the topic, spoil the moment, break the sanctity of the peaceful island. He almost seemed unaware of her silent perusal, the piece by piece categorizing she did of each feature, unable to stop herself from wondering whether the child would have blond or brown hair, blue or brown eyes, his or her nose and lips and cheekbones. But she knew better now than to believe he didn't know exactly what she was doing. She forced her gaze towards the water, to listen to the rhythmic pounding of the surf on the sand, to break the silence. "So where exactly are we?" she questioned, her voice sounding loud to her ears, as disruptive and sacrilegious as screaming in a church.

He indulged her by answering, "Somewhere in the South Pacific."

"Meaning you aren't sure where exactly we are, or you're not going to tell me?"

"The latter."

"You're impossible."

"And you talk too much," he informed her, finally looking at her. She could see the smile playing on his face before he could force it away.

She smothered a giggle at this. "I suppose that I do. Sometimes" she admitted.

"Somebody alert the presses. Miss Bristow's confessing to yapping" he said drolly, his face completely straight. But she could see the laughter dancing in his eyes.

She cracked a half smile and ducked her head so that a curtain of brown hair hid her face from his view. She drew her legs up and wrapped her arms around them, propping her chin between her knees. It was strange, this bantering that had her smiling and repressing laughter. She'd been so stressed, so pressured, so singular in her goals for so long that she'd almost forgotten what it was like to let her guard down and relax. And with _him_ of all people! A first-class assassin, her mother's right-hand man… What she knew of him, who he was, what he did—it just didn't mesh with the person sitting next to her. He was the one person she had to be on her guard around. But instead, she found herself letting go, being herself with him.

Would wonders never cease…?

Moments passed by, pregnant with something she couldn't even begin to describe with words. Things had changed. Inevitable, but not inconsequential. Someday soon, she would be sleeping with the enemy, literally, a choice forced by circumstances beyond her control. She'd made the choice willingly, to walk away from it all, to trade what life she had for her mother's vague promise. She'd done it clinging to the hope that as long as she provided her mother with what she asked for, the unnecessary bloodbath would end, and Sydney would be able to sleep at night without nightmares and guilt on her conscience. No more death. It was all that really mattered, she thought. Hoped. Needed it to be true.

Because if it's not, she may not survive the night, the week, the month, or the year.

He (she refused to think of him by the name that carried the implications of what he was, _who_ he was) stood, and even though he hadn't been sitting in the sand, brushed the seat of his pants. And then, there he stood in front of her, holding his hand out to her, offering to help her stand too.

She couldn't help but… wonder… about the connotations of that statement. And she couldn't help but hope that maybe, just maybe, things weren't as they appeared, that words and actions traveled deeper into the human soul.

But, then again, hope, like trust, is a tricky thing.

She took his hand.

**AN**: and so the saga continues… leave reviews/feedback/criticisms/whatever as always…


	2. Before the Calm of the Storm

**Story**: Once Upon A Time

**Author**: Steph, aka Fanatic482 (stephanie406@att.net) 

**Disclaimer**: Alias and the characters of the show aren't mine. They belong to JJ Abrams, ABC, Bad Robot Productions, etc etc

**Rating**: PG-13 overall, individual chapters that are R will be marked as such

**Spoilers/Summary**: Sequel to "Beyond All Limits"; General Season 1 Spoilers; Sydney and Sark on a private island with one Prophecy goal to fulfill

**Distribution**: Cover Me, Sarkgasm, Dark Enigma yes; all other please ask first

**Thanks To**: Glenna, Jennifer and Becky for the betas!

**Author's Note**: Sorry for the delay, folks, but here it finally is…  hope it's as good as you were expecting, and that the chapter itself is nothing that you were expecting. Hee. Sorry, I'm weird like that. And even though I haven't updated in like 5 weeks, thanks so much to the people that left me notes to let me know I hadn't yet been forgotten! Read & Review as always! Kisses to all… And now for the chapter

**_Chapter Two: Before the Calm of the Storm_**

The beginning of her fourteenth day on the island was marked by a sudden and highly dramatic tropical storm. A particularly loud clap of thunder awoke her from her not quite deep sleep. Rather than roll away from the sliding glass doors that led to her balcony and try to block the noise by crushing a pillow to her ear, Sydney got out of bed and wandered outside of her room. She found herself in the main living area; the den, she supposed would be the proper name. It almost seemed as if she was drawn to the room, to stand in the middle of it and stare out at the storm as it tossed the leaves on the bushes and the fronds of the palm trees.

The storm had a calming effect on her, and gradually she sank to sit on the floor in front of the wall made entirely of glass, her forehead pressed against a windowpane. The storm was like her life, she thought—unpredictable, thoughtless, and dangerous one minute, calm and soothing the next.

She knew the minute he stepped off the last stair and into the hallway that bordered the back of the room—the mood, the aura, the electricity level had all changed from sleepy and calm to tense and charged. But she let no muscle tense, made no movement to indicate she was aware of him—it was something she was good at, had been trained well for.

Eventually, he spoke, using that calm soothing tone she'd become accustomed to hearing from him in the past few days. "I thought I might find you here."

"I wasn't aware that you would be looking for me in the middle of the night," she replied.

"Ah," he said, unnecessarily drawing the single syllable word out, and she knew he was walking towards her, his steps muffled by the same plush carpeting that her fingers absentmindedly picked at. "I thought you'd know by now, love, that I _always_ like to know where you are. What you're doing."

Sydney closed her eyes, squeezing them shut tightly. In a terse tone, she said, "I wish you wouldn't call me that."

"What?" he feigned confusion. "Terms of endearment are not to your liking?"

"No. They aren't. Not from you." She rose quickly and whirled around to face him. "In fact, I'd rather you didn't call me by my given name either. Because it's a reminder of who I am in the _real_ world. And this—" she gestured at the room around her "—is not reality. This is not of my choice, nor my doing. This… this is circumstance only. It's not me, it's not you." She narrowed her eyes when he merely smiled. She blinked, and in that mere millisecond, he had moved to her side. She detested his ability to do that.

"Come outside with me," he implored, grabbing her hand with his and tugging her into following behind him. She didn't consciously make a decision to move her feet and follow him; he seemed to make all her thinking and decision-making capacities disappear.

And so she followed him out into the rain, the stinging wetness soaking her, waking her, reminding her she was still alive. Sydney closed her eyes, tipped her face upwards, spread her arms wide, and embraced the moment. Carefree, relaxed, and laughing, turning a slow circle—remembering a long forgotten moment.

_"Sydney, you get yourself inside right this moment!" her mother scolded her. "You're going to catch your death of a cold!"_

_Five-year-old Sydney, with matching brown pigtails, was skipping through the puddles in the driveway, twirling her child-sized umbrella in sweeping circles, around and around and around. All the sudden, she was being picked up and tossed into the air. She dropped her umbrella, but squealed in laughter because Sydney knew that it was her daddy. She heard her mother's exasperated voice, her father's answering chuckles, her own giggles, the neighbor's dog barking jealously that Sydney got to play outdoors in the rain—that she was getting to have all the fun._

So long ago, and yet it seemed just like yesterday. Her eyes blinked open to see him standing there, a smile on his face that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"This may not be _your_ reality, Sydney Bristow. But I assure you, it's quite real." He spun on his heel and disappeared indoors as quietly as he'd appeared inside only moments ago.

She stormed after him, the slamming of the door behind her obviously catching him by surprise. She stalked up to him, the rain dripping down her face, off her chin and hair and fingertips, lending to the look of fury. "_What_ is _your_ reality, that you can just leave it locked up like it doesn't matter?" Every word was punctuated by a stab of her finger into his chest, a step forward for every step back he took, until he'd backed himself up to the window she'd sat before earlier. She lowered her voice. "You know so God-damned much about me, but I know _nothing_ about _you_."

"Is that what this is about, Sydney? You? What you do and don't know? _Your_ frustration? What's fair for you?"

"Bad move, Sark" she growled, her palms pressing his shoulders against the glass, her body pinning him in place. "Besides. I thought I told you not to call me that."

"Ah yes," he breathed. "But you didn't give me anything else to call you either, now did you?"

"How about my middle name, you pompous bastard? I'm sure you know what it is," she hissed, releasing him. His hands automatically smoothed over his clothing as he nodded in affirmation. "Sit," she ordered, pointing to the couch. He started to protest, but thought better of it when she glowered at him. He sat down, wary when she sat next to him, facing him with her feet tucked under Indian style.

"All right," he sighed. "What do you want to know?"

"Everything." She smiled when he grimaced unhappily.

Another sigh, a lengthy pause, and he began.

"Well. You're right about one thing at least—legally, I would be considered a bastard. At least, to my knowledge of my history, I would be. I grew up in an orphanage, overcrowded with other unwanted and abandoned children." His tone was matter of fact, like it didn't matter to him that his childhood had been what it was—no bedtime stories, no kisses on scrapped knees, no fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies waiting when he came home from school. But she knew that it couldn't have been as glossed over as he made it sound. Because, after six years old, Sydney Bristow might as well been an orphan for all her remaining parent cared. 

Silence before he continued. "Like a good percentage of them, I wasn't born there, but rather, left on the doorstep when my mother found she couldn't care for the both of us. Nurse Bridget once told me that I was about the saddest sight she thought she'd ever seen—a twenty-two month old toddler on the orphanage front porch, tied to the railing by a dirty faded pink hair ribbon, with a note pinned to the brown corduroy jacket I didn't fit into until I was six." A pause. "At least you knew your mother." His voice was sad, and angry, reminiscent and wistful, lost. And Sydney knew, that in that moment, he'd let his guard down long enough to remember something he usually had buried deep and forced himself to forget. For one moment, he relived the pain and isolation.

She wanted to tell him that she understood more than she cared to, that she too had that ache deep in her heart. But instead, she questioned, "Did I really know my mother? After all, I was only six years old when she left. I'd only known her as the woman that put my hair in pigtails and packed little notes in my lunches. She wasn't yet a person to me. At six years old, you don't comprehend that your mother could be right and wrong too." She fell silent. How did you put into words that you still didn't understand that the woman who'd made you a frilly pink party dress for your fourth birthday was the same woman who'd betrayed her husband? That the woman who didn't think twice about killing other children's mothers and fathers had also left her own child motherless? Was the same woman who wanted Sydney to give birth to a child who wouldn't grow up knowing his or her mother.

"But isn't that all that really matters at that age? Being old enough to remember a name, a face, a smile, the sound of her voice, what she smelled like as she tucked you into bed? Knowing the story, if there is one, about how she met your father, why she named you what she did? I grew up in a world where very few had that. I had more than most just by having that damn hair ribbon that had belonged to her, and the note that listed my name and birth date. You can't tell me that was fair either." His gaze met hers in a challenge, and instead all he saw was comprehension, and worst of all, understanding.

She surprised him, and herself, when she asked "And just what _is_ your name?"

"Ethan. Ethan McMillan."

She gave him a quizzical look. "Where'd the 'Mr. Sark' come from then?"

"Your mother."

"Oh." She propped her elbow on her right knee and dropped her chin into the palm of her hand. "I like it though."

"Like what?"

"Your name. Ethan," she said, testing the name out loud. She smiled at him. "It suits you."

"Thank you. I think." He couldn't resist smiling back.

"You know—" A yawn interrupted her. She shook her head and laughed. "You really do have a nice smile—when you use it." She took satisfaction in the startled look on his face. She stretched as she stood, calling back as she padded out of sight, "Good night, Ethan. See you in the morning."

"Good night," he softly said to a now empty room, before shaking his head and heading upstairs to his own room.

AN: leave me reviews!!!!!!!!!!!


	3. Aftermath

**Story**: Once Upon A Time

**Author**: Steph, aka Fanatic482 (stephanie406@att.net) 

**Disclaimer**: Alias and the characters of the show aren't mine. They belong to JJ Abrams, ABC, Bad Robot Productions, etc etc

**Rating**: PG-13 overall, individual chapters that are R will be marked as such

**Spoilers/Summary**: Sequel to "Beyond All Limits"; General Season 1 Spoilers; Sydney and Sark on a private island with one Prophecy goal to fulfill

**Distribution**: Cover Me, Sarkgasm, Dark Enigma yes; all other please ask first

**Thanks To**: Glenna, Jennifer and Becky for the betas!

**Authors Note**: Once again, deeply sorry it took so long to churn this chapter out. But I'm trying so very hard to perfect each and every aspect of this story. And so far, more than anything else I've ever written, I'm very proud of how this is turning out. Who said grand aspirations and dreams can't be fulfilled? Hee. Read & Review as always!

Chapter Three: Aftermath

The first three weeks after Sydney's disappearance had left both Michael Vaughn and Jack Bristow bleary-eyed from lack of sleep. They pushed themselves to work constantly, to shun sleep, to avoid not being busy. Both knew that sitting around doing nothing led to boredom, which led to thinking, and that was something they refused to do. Thinking would make them acknowledge that every millisecond gone diminished their chances of getting her back. (Safe. Alive.)

Michael had taken to staying inside the CIA building twenty-four hours a day. He'd even begun sleeping in his office. (Heaven forbid he not be there when news of his agent came through channels). People worried, continued to observe and comment upon his increasingly more obvious "emotional attachment." He hated that they couldn't call it anything else. But he knew, yes he definitely knew, that if any single one of them were to title his "attachment" (love), then he'd be forced from the case. 

Eric, in the wave of guilt that had crashed over him in the aftermath of Taipei, was on patrol defending his friend against people whispering behind his back. How touching. As it was though, he'd had to forgive his friend (to an extent) because they all had one goal (okay, three). Bring Sydney Bristow back alive. And take down SD-6, and eventually the whole Alliance. After all, the CIA didn't think on small scales; it was always about the "big picture."

Jack, on the other hand, was putting in normal hours at SD-6. And keeping a very close eye on the one Marcus Dixon. Serious contemplation was being given to recruiting him. As it was, SD-6 had put a hit out on Sydney, after Sloane had decided that she really had been the mole all along. Ironically enough, he thought she'd been doubling for her mother's organization and had now been pulled out when it got too dangerous.

And when the "normal" day was over, Jack was either chasing down leads or slipping into HQ to rendezvous with Michael and the rest of the CIA agents assigned to the SD-6 case. Both caught sleep when their eyes got too tired to stay open, crashing on confiscated sleeping bags and folding cots, their minds too exhausted to dream. It was better that way.

Twice, they'd gotten leads on Derevko and had sent out retrieval teams, only to come back empty-handed. She was toying with them. They knew it. But they also knew they had no choice but to chase her to distant corners of the world in hopes of finding Sydney. Someday soon, someone would realize the futility of trying to catch that woman and would yank the strings on the operation. Or, maybe, Devlin would order Michael to accept one of the transfer opportunities instead of waiting until that shimmering someday when Sydney would be back.

It had now been 3 weeks, 1 day, 3 hours, 28 minutes and 53 seconds since Sydney had climbed into that car with Sark, guns being jabbed into her back to prod her along. Michael knew this since he'd set his watch the instant the door of that car had shut behind her.

"Mike," he heard a voice call from his doorway. He struggled to focus his tired eyes, to shift them away from the computer he'd been blankly staring at for who knew how long, to identify the person that dared to disturb him from wallowing in melancholy. Because didn't he have every right to? The woman who'd killed his father had abducted her own daughter, whom he happened to be in love with. Yeah, he had every right to throw himself as many pity parties as he wanted.

"Eric?" he questioned, finally focusing (somewhat) enough on the individual who'd now moved into the office and was daring to walk behind the desk.

"Yeah, man. It's me. Look. I know you don't want to hear this, but Mike, you gotta go home." Something flitted before Michael's eyes too fast for him to catch, but he knew it was the ever-present yo-yo. "You look about ready to fall over," he said sympathetically as Michael was finally able to focus on Eric's face and make eye contact. "Okay," he revised, "you look like shit."

"Gee. Thanks," he muttered, shuffling whatever papers happened to be sitting under his hands.

"I mean it, Mike. When's the last time you were home? Showered? Hell, when's the last time you put anything in you that wasn't coffee?" Eric's frustration showed in his tone of voice, his impatience, the string of curses he let out when the yo-yo fell.

Michael's face actually went blank as he tried to recall the last time he _had_ eaten something. He just couldn't remember, so he shrugged.

"Ah hell," Weiss growled, shoving himself away from the desk and grabbing Mike's wrist to tug him out of his chair. "I'm taking you home. No arguments." And with that, Michael was unceremoniously shoved out of his office, and literally towed behind his wider friend down to the parking lot.

The door thumped quietly behind Eric as he settled into the driver's seat, the keys dangling from the ignition. Michael rose from his stupor enough to quizzically look at his friend, who was regarding him with a look of such infinite sadness that it nearly brought Michael to tears.

"You've got to let her go, Mike," he sighed, shaking his head gently. "You've just _got_ to let her go. Continue like this, and soon you won't be much good to either Sydney _or_ yourself."

"I know." Lonely, sad words of great magnitude, small in volume and size, but ready to take on the world. Because if there was one thing Michael Vaughn knew, it was this—loving Sydney Bristow would be the death of him. He didn't know if he would change it, didn't know if he had the willpower to do it if he could.

If only she was home. If only her mother wasn't "The Man." If only Taipei hadn't happened. If only he didn't love her for everything she was, his life would certainly be much less complicated. If only—

All the "if only's" in the world wouldn't change right now, and Michael knew that. Because it wasn't so much her being gone that bothered him. He knew Sydney Bristow was more than adept at taking care of herself. She'd been born to do just that. No, it was this uncertainty, the waiting, the worrying, the "if only's" that were killing him. Knowing something didn't stop you from hoping.

Forget taking Eric's advice and going to bed. Today, Michael thought he would prefer to take the opportunity to drink himself into a stupor.

**************

Jack Bristow was not a man that easily lost his grip on his signature self control. But at this moment in time, sitting in the chair across from his old friend Ben Devlin, gripping the armrests so hard he was sure they were about to crumble under his fingers, Jack was having a very hard time trying to reign in his temper. But he was well aware that now wasn't the time to lead a crusade, with bridges ablaze behind him. The Agency was his last hope, now that Sloane had turned against Sydney.

Although, things were not looking very good on that particular frontier.

"Jack, you know I just can't see using the resources, time, and manpower that it's going to take to hunt down Derevko and find Sydney. We've already had two failed missions, in which she _purposely_ misled us. You even reported yourself that Derevko told us not to bother." He rocked back in his chair and looked at Jack contemplatively. He seemed to be wrestling with something, and after having apparently come to a decision he sat forward, hands folded neatly on his desk. "Now, Jack, we both know it's more than Sydney's disappearance that's got you in a bind. You mind letting me know what's _really_ bothering you?"

Jack inhaled sharply, forcing himself to let it out in a long even breath. He also loosened his grip on the furniture, trying to compose himself. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing is wrong, Ben. What made you think there was anything wrong?" Jack couldn't bring himself so far as to actually look into his old friend's eyes. And that, Ben took as the definitive answer.

"Jack. It's just you and me. Friends, remember? Talk to me."

"I… I just—God." Jack released a pent up frustrated sigh. "Seeing her again. Ben, I _loved_ her! And it doesn't just go away when you want it to. You don't just forget that you'd created a life with someone. And every time I look at Sydney… she just reminds me so much of who I thought Laura was. How I wanted things to be." Jack finally met Ben's eyes. "I don't want to lose all that again. I _can't_ lose all that again!"

Irritation at himself welled to the breakable point and he jumped from his chair and began pacing the length of the office. Suddenly he stopped, whirled and stalked to the desk, braced himself on the edge and leaned over. "I spent twenty years of my daughter's life avoiding her because her resemblance to Laura frightened me. And I'll be damned if I let another opportunity to tell her I love her pass me by. Because… because if she dies now, at that woman's hands, she'll never know just how much I cherish and respect her, not only as my own flesh and blood, but as a woman in her own right. She won't know how proud I am to call her my daughter. Now. Is the CIA going to do anything to help me find her, or am I going to have to take things into my own hands?"

Ben's expression was troubled as he faced Jack, knowing that despite their friendship he was going to have to do his job. He stood, and as gently as he possibly could say, "I'm sorry, Jack I just can't authorize any more missions unless we have a good solid lead. It's too much of a risk."

"She's a valuable CIA asset, Ben! Does that mean nothing to you?!"

"Jack." He paused, purposely trying to choose his words as carefully as he could. "Yes, she's a CIA officer. And yes, her skills make her an asset to our organization. But facts are facts. SD-6 has turned against her, which no longer makes her a double agent. She may yet be valuable to us, but—"

Jack rushed from the office, the door slamming soundly behind him, before Ben could finish what he was saying. Wearily, Ben sank into his chair, depressed that once again, he'd had to choose between his loyalty to his country and to his friends. He picked up the phone and buzzed his secretary, who sounded a little startled herself, and asked for an extra strength pain medication and a glass of water. Suddenly, he had a headache.

**AN**: _Please_ be so kind as to leave me wonderful little reviews! Oh, yes, and ya'll will be happy to know that chapter four has already been started. Hee. Maybe we can speed this up to more than a chapter a month, eh? lol


	4. Dangers & Addictions

**Story**: Once Upon A Time

**Author**: Steph, aka Fanatic482 (stephanie406@att.net) 

**Disclaimer**: Alias and the characters of the show aren't mine. They belong to JJ Abrams, ABC, Bad Robot Productions, etc etc

**Rating**: PG-13 overall, individual chapters that are R will be marked as such

**Spoilers/Summary**: Sequel to "Beyond All Limits"; General Season 1 Spoilers; Sydney and Sark on a private island with one Prophecy goal to fulfill

**Distribution**: Cover Me, Sarkgasm, Dark Enigma yes; all other please ask first

**Thanks To**: Glenna, Jennifer and Becky for the betas!

**Author's Note**: *ducks and hides* oh dear. I don't even know how to begin apologizing for the hugely long time it's been since I've updated. Life sorta… happened. And I wound up getting busier and busier and this just got pushed on the back burner. But the new chapter of S/S gooey perfectionism is now posted, so you can be happy (and stop threatening all sorts of deliciously evil things *grin*). Enjoy, review, and encourage me to get Chapter 5 out quicker! (hint: it's mostly almost done! Heh)

**Story Note**: Ethan is Sark, Amanda is Sydney (refer back to chapter 2 when she asks him to call her by her middle name. Since the official web page only gives "Sydney A. Bristow," I gave her a middle name for the story

Chapter Four: Dangers & Addictions 

"You realize, do you not, that the peak hours of sun exposure are when one is most susceptible to sunburns?" His amused tone brought a smile to her face as she shaded her eyes and tilted her face in the direction his voice had come from. "Mind if I sit?"

"Not in the least." He settled next to her on the blanket she'd spread on the sand. "Was there any particular reason for the reminder of the evils of sun worshipping?" She propped her head on her hand and looked at him while digging her feet into the warm sand.

"Well…" He looked around furtively, which made her laugh, and then triumphantly produced a bottle of sun block he'd hidden under his shirt. "As a lead-in to seeing if I could use this for its proper use."

Sydney couldn't help it. She dissolved into giggles. He was cute when he was trying to reach out and make connections with her, because endearingly enough he didn't seem to have much experience dealing with people on a personal level.

It was day twenty-seven, a day short of two weeks since that late night encounter. Slowly, but surely, the walls of self-defense began to inch down as they became more comfortable with each other. On the mornings when Sydney woke early to run on the beach, she found him already stretching on the firmly packed damp sand. By default, they'd settled into a schedule of eating together. When it suited their moods, they settled into the library at night to read their respective books in a companionable silence. But mostly, they'd begun to probe into each other's lives. Sometimes, it was a game of twenty questions, or a general philosophical debate. Other times, there were shared memories or stories.

There was just one thing she hadn't yet asked him. She wasn't quite sure if she really wanted to know the truth behind it, or if there was even a definitive answer. Ultimately, she was afraid that the answer would strike too close to home. Maybe tonight she would ask. Maybe not. For now, she just answered the unspoken question he'd posed and let him have creative license with the bottle of sun block, because she had, after all, forgotten to put it on.

Sydney mumbled something along the lines of "Do as you wish" as she sleepily burrowed her face back into the T-shirt she was using as a pillow. The cool drizzle of sunscreen on her sun-warmed skin was startling, but it was the immediate touch of his hands that followed as he massaged the lotion onto her back that more than made up for it. A tiny moan of pleasure escaped as his fingers worked her spine, moving in broader circles as he moved towards her shoulders. One thing she knew for certain—Ethan McMillan could make a killer of a career out of his hands.

Then again, didn't he do that already?

Sydney immediately dismissed the unwelcome taunting of her mind. She was trying so hard to forget his outside persona, the image he wore for her mother, instead trying to concentrate on him as a person. Concentrate on him being Ethan, someone who could be a friend in these odd circumstances, because she could understand better than most what it was to live a lie. Assuming, of course, that he was. And that the person she was coming to know bit by bit wasn't just another persona.

Ethan interrupted what were quickly becoming seriously deranged and unsettling thoughts with a question. "So… any special requests I should place with Maria for dinner?"

Maria and Leonardo were the elderly caretakers of the house and island, living on the island year round. Sydney couldn't figure out if they were there for the solitude, were being blackmailed into taking care of the place, were there as a personal favor, or were being heavily recompensed with money they'd never have the chance to spend. She couldn't imagine the sweet old couple having some deep, dark secret to hide. But then, one just never knew, did they?

"Pickles," she mumbled in answer to his question. He got suspicious when she disappeared into her thoughts.

"What was that, Amanda? I seem to have massaged you into an incoherent puddle. Again," he teased.

Sydney could hear the laughter in his words and cracked open an eye to glare at him. He'd stopped the glorious massage to lie on his back next to her. "Pickles," she repeated slowly and clearly, trying purposely to make it sound as if she thought he was daft for not being able to decipher Sydney-mumble when he spoke something like 8 languages fluently. But she also knew full well she'd been unintelligible, and this was all just a game. It eased the tension, made living life here easier.

Ethan sighed a long, drawn out sigh, indicating that he too was playing his part. "Amanda, Amanda… must I remind you that you finished off all the pickles a full six days ago, only hours after the food had even arrived?"

Sydney propped herself on her elbows and pouted prettily in his direction. She figured she should feel some guilt for having eaten them all so fast, but she'd always had a weakness for them. It didn't matter what kind—all pickles were good. "But…" she whined.

"Tomorrow, love. Tomorrow. I made sure to request crates full of the things, but until then you'll just have to eat your vegetables." He tried to give a pointedly chastising look, but a brilliant half smile emerged instead as her pout grew deeper. "Although," he teased, breaking off in a way that let her know he had something up his sleeve.

She immediately sat up all the way, propping her sunglasses on top of her head. "What? Tell me, tell me!" she begged eagerly.

"Well, you see, I did manage to put a few cans of tuna into hiding before you ate them all… and I'm hoping that offering them now in place of the pickles will serve as an acceptable replacement for my oversight in not ordering 'adequate' pickles for Her Majesty of the Island last week."

"Tuna!?" she squeaked. "You've been hiding tuna from me! Ethan!" Sydney swatted him on his bare stomach before he could turn away. "Traitor! Where'd you hide it?" she demanded, trying hard not to laugh at the wounded expression on his face. "Hey, you asked for it!" she exclaimed in self-defense.

"Kill me now and you'll never find out where it is," he teasingly threatened.

Her pout returned in full force, and Sydney widened her eyes innocently and batted her eyelashes at him. "Puh-lease!!!" She pulled out all the stops, scooting closer, pushing her bottom lip out, drawing out the word in a tone that mixed whining, begging, and sex-kittenish teasing.

He finally had to cave, the tough, hard look on his face broken by laughter. "Really, truly not hard to see why you're so good at your day job. I think you'd be able to talk a dead man into waltzing with you should you ever try."

Sydney clapped her hands in glee. "Now?" she asked hopefully.

"Positively _not_. Dinner," he emphasized. "You know, that meal where you're actually supposed to have a salad, main course, vegetable, bread and starch? Not the meal where we throw peas at the guys with guns and ask for a peanut butter sandwich instead of steak."

"You're no fun," she pouted, mumbling "Traitor" under her breath as she flopped onto her back. Time to tan the front again, seeing as how dinnertime wasn't any time soon. She settled into a comfortable position, her legs and arms sprawled in all directions and sunglasses firmly in place on her face.

This time, she really wasn't expecting the cold drizzle of sun block when it landed on her stomach. She squealed in protest, flying into a sitting position, and pulling her sunglasses up just enough that he could see the death glare she sent him. "Next time, _warn_ me before you do that!"

He managed to have a completely innocent look on his face as he told her "Now, now… no need to get snarky or anything, Amanda." And then he just smiled.

She vowed to get even… and soon… when he least expected an attack. So she shot a haughty look at him, proceeding to ignore him as she rubbed the sun block into her skin. Then she laid down again, her sunglasses in place once more, and pretended that he ceased to exist. Well, at least until the tuna showed up on her dinner plate at least.

**********

Sydney gave Leonardo a gracious smile as he pushed her chair in as she sat down at the dining room table. Since he'd made a point of joining her for her meals, Ethan normally arrived before her so he could seat her and make sure his choice of wine for the night was to her liking. Normally it was, considering he was much more of a wine connoisseur than she. Sometimes, it was all too apparent to Sydney that he tried too hard to normalize himself and their surroundings. She knew he was doing it to change her perceptions—most of the time he succeeded. No need to let him know that flat out, though.

Sydney heard his voice coming from the hallway that connected the dining room and kitchen. Sure enough, the swinging door opened and he held it so that Maria could pass by with the cumbersome food cart. She nodded her thanks and he smiled at her.

That smile always caught Sydney off guard. He was usually so serious, and that beautiful smile just changed everything.

Sydney eyed the cart next to her suspiciously as Maria quietly slipped from the room and Ethan let the door close behind her. Before she could even open her mouth to ask about the food, he gave her a look telling her to be patient. Sydney tried to relax into her seat, but she was too suspicious. First, he wasn't there to greet her as usual, then Maria left without putting the dishes on the table, and now the prolonged silence. What else about their normal routine was going to change before the night was over?

"Wine?" he pleasantly asked, uncorking and offering a vintage red wine as he moved closer.

"Please." She picked up her wine glass and held it while he poured the standard half glass. "Thank you," she smiled and took a sip. Per usual, it was delicious. He turned to pour some into his own glass and Sydney's hand snuck towards the nearest food dish. Before she could even get a finger hooked under the cover, Ethan's foot pushed the cart out of reach. "Hey!" She figured she could express her indignation at being robbed since he'd obviously known her well enough to foil her plans. So much for being a stealthy spy.

"Wouldn't you rather keep the element of surprise, Amanda? Worried that I wouldn't keep my word about tuna for dinner?"

"Not exactly…" she trailed off in reply. He eyed her in disbelief as he seated himself in his chair. "What? I just like knowing everything there is to know about my surroundings. Besides," she grinned, "I'd just have to kick your ass if you lied to me, so it's in your best interest not to provoke that."

"You could certainly try, Amanda. You could certainly try." He gave her a self-satisfied smirk that made her wonder what secrets he hid. "Besides, as the phrase goes, didn't curiosity kill the cat?"

Sydney shrugged. "Maybe that particular cat just that once. I tend towards being the slinky cat who was curious and still got away. Now, may we please eat? All the fun in the sun today has me particularly hungry tonight."

"Yes, we may eat now." He stood, picked a covered plate up in each hand and delivered one to each of their seats.

In great anticipation, Sydney made short order of the plate cover, squealing in delight at the pleasantly surprising sight that greeted her. There sat her favorite meal from when she was a young child—tator tots, a tuna burger, and fresh green beans from the garden. She looked up in shock. "I—how in the world did you know that?" Then it hit her—her mother. Of course. "Never mind. It still was very sweet. Really. Thank you." She gave him a huge smile, still blown away that he'd cared enough to surprise her like this. Even if it had involved the woman she hated in the plan and risking an unpleasant trip down memory lane. He smiled back, and their gazes held for a moment. Sydney broke what was quickly becoming an uncomfortably too intimate moment to see what he was having for dinner. She laughed when she discovered that his plate held what hers did.

Ethan shrugged. "What? Sometimes, one must try new foods, or run the risk of being bored by food." She smiled at him again, and then turned her attention to her plate.

They ate their meal in a comfortable silence, finishing off with strawberry shortcake for dessert, and then made their way into the library to finish the evening off with reading from their current book choices.

All in all, it had turned out to be a pleasant day. A surprising day, yes, but it had been comfortable and easy the way days were when one was adjusted to a new routine.

**Author's Note**: Read. Review. Make me happy, and I post chp 5 soon. hee


	5. Familial Ties

**Story**: Once Upon A Time

**Author**: Steph, aka Fanatic482 (stephanie406@att.net) 

**Disclaimer**: Alias and the characters of the show aren't mine. They belong to JJ Abrams, ABC, Bad Robot Productions, etc etc

**Rating**: PG-13 overall, individual chapters that are R will be marked as such

**Spoilers/Summary**: Sequel to "Beyond All Limits"; General Season 1 Spoilers; Sydney and Sark on a private island with one Prophecy goal to fulfill

**Distribution**: Cover Me, Sarkgasm, Dark Enigma yes; all other please ask first

**Thanks To**: Glenna, Jennifer and Becky for the betas!

**Author's Note**: Yeah, I think this is the most closely posted chapters to this story that I've put out. Consider yourselves lucky and blessed. Heh. Well, then again, I was on spring break this past week. Chp 6 is started, but not finished, so hit that review button when you're finished reading to motivate me!

Chapter Five: Familial Ties

It was day thirty-four of being on the island. He too had been keeping count of their days on the blissful "little island paradise." He was working within a time frame, much though he wanted to deny such a thing. Against his intentions when he first escorted Sydney, or Amanda as he now called her, to the island, the respect he'd held for her as a professional had evolved into respecting and liking her as a person.

Which made what was coming in thirteen days time all the harder for him to do.

It was his second favorite time of day, sunset, and Ethan sat in a hammock tied between two palm trees on the beach. It was such a beautiful spot, and such a glorious time of day. The span of still-warm white sand stretched until it hit the waves of the blue sea, which melted into the sky above and the setting sun that painted the sky all shades of the rainbow. He was alone, for now, and peace settled into his soul. If nothing else, Mother Nature had always been kind to him, and had always been steadfastedly there.

"Hey." Her melodious voice was just loud enough to be heard over the surf and quiet enough not to ruin the serenity of another beautiful sunset. "Thought I might find you down here." Ethan shifted his gaze in her direction, smiling when his gaze met hers. She'd changed, opting for shorts and a tank top over the sundress she'd worn to dinner. "Mind if I join you?" He felt powerless to do anything but shake his head and make room for her next to him.

He left his arm stretched across the hammock, and she snuggled into his side as she got comfortable. Sometime in the past week, she'd apparently decided to let her guard down and just be herself around him, to stop holding him at arms length and take advantage of the only real human contact she had access to. Automatically and unconsciously, his hand moved up to comb through the silky strands of her hair.

Yes, it was getting very hard for him to be objective about this woman. She tended to steal his breath away more and more often. She sighed in what he took for contentment. As time went by, it got easier to read her, to know what certain facial expressions and sounds meant. The world of Sydney Amanda Bristow was by no means straightforward or clear-cut. He liked that. And he liked that he had the opportunity and the means to finally get to know her. She'd intrigued him from the first time he'd met her.

Her voice broke into his thoughts. "Tell me a story, Ethan." She picked her head up and turned to look at him. "Please?" She brought her legs up into the hammock, draping them over his lap. His left hand came to rest on her knees, trailing across the faint scarring that was the only visible proof to her humanity.

Somewhere along the way, she'd found out he could tell magnificent stories of places he'd been, things he'd done, what it had been like to grow up in an orphanage packed with more children than was right. And he'd discovered that some of those journeys were cathartic—that he'd been longing to share the stories.

He shook his head and smiled gently at her. "Nope. You first tonight."

She groaned and wrinkled her nose. "Fine," she caved, blowing out her breath noisily. "Any requests?"

"Actually, yes, tonight there is." She gazed up at him quizzically. He'd never actually requested a certain story from her. Tonight would be the night everything would change. "Tell me what it was like before she left. What your family was like, what family life was like."

"Well… compared to after she left, life before was idyllic… happy. Nice. Mom and Dad were always so… content. She made dinner when she wasn't off on her little 'conference trips.' She said that cooking was fun, creative, and soothing. When I was four, I went through a phase where all my pasta had to be spiraled. She never once forgot." Sydney smiled reminiscently. "She made my clothes for me, telling me that I was going to be the best-dressed little girl in the whole kindergarten. I always had homemade cookies in my lunches, and notes written on my napkins. Every Friday afternoon when Dad got home from work, we walked to the local park and bought hot dogs from a vendor for dinner.

"I got my first Barbie and Ken dolls when I was five. Since my parents were the most romantic, perfect couple I knew, Barbie and Ken had a marriage just like my parents. After all, Mom was always waiting to give Dad a kiss as soon as he walked in the door. They were always sneaking kisses when they thought I wasn't looking—but I peeked. I always thought they were the most loving couple I'd ever known. Well, until I found out the truth. But even then… there was just a side to Dad that only surfaced when Mom was around. He—he changed after she died. She'd always nagged him about working too hard and not playing enough. Told him that he was going to spoil me rotten, which he did. After she was gone, he never did anything but work, practically forgot I even existed."

Sydney's expression was so sad that Ethan regretted asking her to share at all. "Invariably, things will change. She left, and everything changed."

"Hey." His hand moved up and caught hers, lacing her fingers with his. "Forget I asked."

She shook her head in protest, giving him a weak but brave smile. "You know, Dad once told me that the first real fight they had was over my after-school activities. Mom wanted me to learn to play the piano; Dad wanted me to become a perfect little ballerina."

"So what did you wind up doing?" he asked curiously.

She grinned. "I told them I was going to play soccer. It horrified them enough that they offered a compromise of gymnastics classes."

Ethan burst out laughing. "You really did have them wrapped around your little fingers, didn't you?"

"I most certainly did." Her smile faded, as once again she remembered the tragedy that unfairly tore both her loving parents away from her.

"My turn now, right?" he asked, changing the subject.

"Uh huh," she confirmed and curled closer as the night chill began to set in.

For a moment, he paused in thought. He knew what he should tell her, what she really wanted to know but would probably always be too polite to come straight out and ask him. He'd let her discover his abilities to tell a good story, and knew there was one she continually hoped would be the one he voluntarily told. And because of how much he'd come to like and respect her, he wanted to share it with her. The ultimate story of how he'd become who he had, why he had done the things with his life that he had—a compelling story if ever one existed, though no one but him would ever know it in its entirety.

He took a deep breath and began. Telling the story of a lonely orphan, always the one being bullied around and picked on. At twelve years old, he'd stolen what money and food he could get his hands on and he'd left. Roamed the streets, finding food and shelter where he could, developing a sense of street savvy that would serve him the rest of his life. He lost himself in his story, knowing that if he looked at her, he'd never be able to finish. Not now, with the shaping of how he'd become who he was still to tell.

"I was fourteen when a kid I'd seen around on the streets invited me to join a street gang he'd gotten involved with. There was always fighting in the streets—Catholics and Protestants, men and women, cops and kids. And then there we were—the kids that skulked around behind the law, doing whatever was asked of us, for a price. My first contract was a political candidate who went too far outside the acceptable boundaries of the time. He never even saw me coming, and after he was dead, a particular stroke of genius implicated our largest street rival.

"By fifteen, I'd begun to have a reputation amongst the underground. The particularly difficult jobs came with requests that I perform them. It was money, but more than that there was respect. For the first time, people feared me for what I could do _to them_. That sense of power was dizzying. The adrenaline rush compares to nothing else in the world. It was thrilling, and I embraced my life, believing I had been destined to live the life I had found.

"By seventeen, my ambitions were higher than what Ireland could provide me. It was harder to evade the law, harder to trust the people that were supposed to be my surrogate family. So I struck out for London. Worked a job here and there, working my way around Europe until your mother approached me. Told me she was impressed with my 'resume' and was interested in hiring me for some freelance work. So I accepted, and over time she didn't trust anyone else. I got promoted into the Organization." He stopped, finally daring to look down at Sydney, trying to gauge a reaction. "She cared about me, and that was more than I'd dared to ever ask for. She looked after me; saw to it that I had everything I could ever want. I—it was like she adopted me, raised me to be the son she'd never had. For the first time in my life, I had _real _family."

Sydney's eyes were shining with tears. "Ironic, isn't it? The only family you ever knew began only after _mine_ fell apart." The pain in her eyes burnt dangerous and hot, making his throat constrict at the realization that he'd caused it.

"Sydney—" Ethan reached his hands down to brush away her tears, but she violently twisted out of his reach, both unaware that he'd called her by her first name.

"Don't. Just don't." And then she was gone, running down the beach in the direction away from the house.

He sat where he was, knowing as well as she did that he had to let her go. But it didn't ease his frustration. His signature self-control slipped a few notches as the frustration welled and he took it out by kicking the sand at his feet and uttering a few choice explicatives.


	6. Dance

**Story**: Once Upon A Time

**Author**: Steph, aka Fanatic482 (stephanie406@att.net)

**Disclaimer**: Alias and the characters of the show aren't mine. They belong to JJ Abrams, ABC, Bad Robot Productions, etc etc

**Rating**: PG-13 overall, individual chapters that are R will be marked as such

**Spoilers/Summary**: Sequel to "Beyond All Limits"; General Season 1 Spoilers; Sydney and Sark on a private island with one Prophecy goal to fulfill

**Distribution**: Cover Me, Sarkgasm, Dark Enigma yes; all other please ask first

**Thanks To**: Glenna, Jennifer and Becky for the betas!

**Author's Note**: wow. I'm so frickin' proud of myself right now, because I'm on a roll and it feels great…Hell, I'm getting caught up in my own story! As always, read, review, and make me feel loved! (special shout out to 'screen names are tacky'… your last review had me smiling as I went to take a monster test, and reminded me so much why I share the fruits of my creativity in the first place. _Thank you_)

Chapter Six: Dance

It was day forty-one, a week later, and Sydney was still mad. Upset. Angry. Hell, she was the torrential tornado that swept through the house. Dinners, which Ethan still insisted upon eating with her, were tense affairs. His attempts to be pleasant were met with terse, biting replies that usually quieted him long enough that she could resume brooding. She was perfecting her dark, brooding technique.

For all the thinking she'd done, she refused to think about why, exactly, his life story had affected her so much. Refused to acknowledge that it was because she'd begun to care about him. Embracing her pain and anger was easier than confronting those confusing emotions where black and white blurred to shades of gray. Her alternatives were pity and sympathy or identification and empathy, neither of which was on her to-do list where Ethan McMillan was concerned.

Sydney finished taping her knuckles and slipped on the boxing gloves as she eyed the punching bag. Too bad she couldn't get a picture of his face to tape to it. Of course, he chose that moment to show his face. Sydney ignored him as she braced her feet on the mat and threw her first punch, then a second, testing the bag, and falling into a rhythm. Punching bags were impractical for practicing more than perfecting her jab, and that usually was just fine with her. She began to intermediate the throws with kicks. When he appeared on the other side of the bag to hold it in place for her, she managed to tap into a new reservoir of energy and began kicking and punching as if out to kill.

Over the rhythmic slap of glove and skin to bag, she heard him offer to fight her. She stopped, eyed him challenging with a hard gaze that he met in return. "You're on." Sydney was breathing hard, and sweating profusely by this point, and she found it very hard to keep her gaze off him as he stripped off his shirt and grabbed the roll of tape.

"Hope you know what you're getting yourself into," she muttered, yanking her right glove off to grab a bottle of water. She uncapped it, maintaining constant movement to keep her muscles limber. Some of her hair had escaped her ponytail and hung in damp strands in her face. She brushed them out of the way as he put on his gloves, and returned her hand to her glove.

"I always know what I'm getting myself into." His eyebrows rose in a challenge as he began to circle her. She wasted no time inviting him to attack, blocking every punch, fighting as if she was dancing. After all, Sydney had taken ballet lessons, eventually, her younger self thinking it was a surefire way to gain the approval of her distant remaining parent. Fighting was nothing more than an unchoreographed, but equally beautiful, dance.

She used every move she'd ever been taught, borrowing from other fighting styles and being creative as she went. "I get the feeling you're holding back on me," she breathed heavily, blocking a throw and attempted an undercut. He advanced on her again, trying to kick her feet out from under her. She jumped just in time. The fighting had advanced to all out war, just with boxing gloves as an added bonus.

"Maybe I am," he countered. "But then again, so are you."

She grinned, pulling a fancy footwork maneuver and danced her way out of reach. "Maybe." He lunged and she tumbled away. "Or maybe not. Maybe you'll never know." She used a last burst of energy to launch an all out attack, grinning in exhileration when she finally managed to knock his feet from under him and send him crashing to the ground. She straddled his middle, pinning him to the floor. "Gotcha," she crowed in glee. They were both panting heavily.

A few deep breaths later, and he relaxed under her, a reckless grin on his face. Sydney eyed him suspiciously, sitting back and settling her weight squarely on his stomach. "What?" she finally asked.

"Nothing. Nothing at all." He gave her his completely unconvincing rendition of an innocent look. "Just… you know, enjoying the view from down here." His laughter turned into a groan as her gloved right hand clocked him on the side of his head. "Owww…" he complained as she stood and he sat upright, his now gloveless hand tenderly rubbed the spot.

"Like you haven't suffered worse, you arrogant little—"

"Hey now… How about we call a truce before you say something you'll regret later."

"Not likely. I don't think regret fits anywhere in this picture, Ethan." She yanked off her gloves, wincing as her bloody knuckles emerged.

"Except maybe not putting enough tape on those?" He graced her with an arrogant smirk as he stood and tossed his gloves in the general direction of the proper equipment box. "Let me have a look." He'd gotten hold of her hands before she could pull away, gently unwrapping the soiled tape. Of course, just to rub the pain in all the more, his own tape looked as it had when he'd put it on, if just a little sweatier. Damn him.

"Punching bag," she muttered, shrugging out of reach and finished unwrapping her hands herself, dropping the tape into the waste basket on her way out of the room.

"You can't avoid me forever, you know." Great, he'd changed the topic to something even less to her liking than before, and to make matters worse, he was following her up the stairs to her room.

"You going to stop me from trying?" she tossed back challengingly. She entered her room and went straight for the first aid kit under the bathroom sink. She dropped it on the counter, turned the cold water on full force and stuck her hands under the stream of water. "Yes?" she asked in exasperation, turning to look at him standing comfortably in her bathroom doorway, his hip propped against the doorframe and his arms folded over his bare chest. His face held an irritated, if slightly perturbed, look.

"Why do you insist on causing yourself so much unnecessary pain?" His head nodded in indication towards her hands, but both knew he meant much more than that.

Sydney thought about just ignoring the question, but knew he would just ask again, some other time, some other way. She turned the water off and began gently blotting her hands dry. "Why not? It seems to be what I'm best at. To get emotionally involved in whatever the hell it is that I'm doing, to give it everything I've got, and then to have it turn against me and bite me in the ass. Is that what you wanted to know? Is there some more, oh, I don't know, _personal_ reason I can give you?" Her sarcasm was evident as she dropped the towel down the laundry chute and turned to leave the bathroom, only to find him still blocking the exit. "Do you mind? I'd like to actually take a nice, hot bath before dinner, and you're blocking my way to the closet." She sent him a leveled hard gaze, but he only simply met it, searching her eyes for God knows what. After what seemed an eternity to her, he moved out of the way.

"So I'll see you at dinner then?" he asked pleasantly, as if the previous exchange hadn't happened, as if the whole entire week had just been any other fun-filled happy week in their little island paradise. She flipped the finger to his retreating back, innocently moving into her closet when he turned to look at her before closing the door behind him.

Sydney perused the collection of sundresses in her closet. She was about to settle on a red and white checked gingham when an idea entered her mind. She wandered further into the closet, into the corner full of the more formal clothes. Sydney had discovered them her first trip into the closet, but had dismissed them as too fussy and much too like the clothing she wore on a regular basis for missions.

But tonight, Sydney felt like shaking things up. And she knew exactly what she was going to wear.

***********

Her fingers trailed softly down the curving wooden banister as she made her way towards the dining room. The hem of the dress swished silkily against her knees, and she could feel the loose curls slipping free of the precarious half twist. Black designer stilettos clicked down the marble hallway, and her glossy lipstick was slick when she rubbed her lips together. She knew exactly how sexy her look was, how completely overdone for dinner, and she didn't care in the least.

She sauntered into the room and found Ethan with his back turned to her and perusing the wine bottles. "What do you think about a—" he was asking as he turned around, the words in his mouth trailing off when he caught sight of her standing in the doorway. She donned a knowing smirk when he almost dropped the bottle he was holding. All the time achieving the look was worth the look on his face. She knew that rarely did anything ever catch him off guard, let alone actually surprise him.

"Whatever it is, I'm sure it'll do just fine," she replied, making her way towards the table. The chiffon of her black halter dress swayed with every movement, the ruffle on the plunging neckline drawing more attention than anything as she turned to be seated. When the chair didn't move in, she coyly turned around to find him fixated on her completely bare back. "Ethan," she prompted.

He snapped out of his trance. "Right," he said and pushed the chair in.

"Thank you." She crossed her legs under the table and watched as he uncorked the chosen wine bottle. Not surprisingly, another red wine.

"Well. I'm feeling quite underdressed for the first time in a long time," he commented as he seated himself. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Sydney gave a casual, almost careless shrug. "I felt like dressing up. Do I need a reason beyond that?"

"Not at all. In fact, Miss Bristow, you look quite stunning. I just wish you'd allowed me the pleasure of joining you in the 'dressing up' part of the evening."

She smiled the secretive little smile she'd perfected many years ago. "Now, that would have just spoiled all my fun in surprising you, wouldn't it have? Besides, you look just fine." And he did. His khakis were meticulous, and the navy polo shirt made his eyes look even bluer. But she wasn't going to tell _him_ that. Because that would mean that she'd taken notice of his eyes, knew what shade of blue they were when he was in a certain mood, wearing a certain color, and in different light.

He straightened and his face brightened, which immediately made Sydney suspicious. "I have an idea. Would you maybe like to have a little dancing after dinner?"

Sydney almost choked on the sip of wine she'd just taken, but recovered enough to take his question in stride. In fact… She gave him a sly smile. "I'd love to."

"Wonderful." He smiled one of those rare, bright smiles of his, the kind that always made her heart skip a tiny beat. Maria emerged with dinner, and so the eating commenced.

***********

She'd been in the small-scale ballroom once before, on her initial examination of the house after her arrival. Two sides were floor-to-ceiling glass with an ocean view, the other sides tastefully decorated in cream with gold trimmings. The décor scheme enhanced the painted murals across the domed ceiling. It was breath-takingly beautiful, and completely impractical for a solitary home on an island far away from civilization. But she loved it anyways.

Ethan had disappeared into a room behind a hidden wall panel, and soon soft jazzy music was filling the room. "How's the sound?" he called, peering around the door.

She stood in the middle of the dance floor. "Gorgeous," she answered.

He nodded, apparently satisfied, returned to the room. The lights began to dim, which made her laugh softly and shake her head. When he reemerged, she said, "You know, Ethan, one would almost think you were trying to create a romantic atmosphere." She tilted her head and smiled as he approached.

He stopped in front of her and smiled in return. "Would that be such a bad thing, Sydney?"

Her eyes narrowed when she heard him refer to her by her first name. "I—"

He reached for her hands. "You have to admit that it's getting rather ridiculous for me to call you by a name other than the one you go by." Sydney sighed, because, more than anything, it was frustrating when he was right. His fingers rubbed absent-mindedly over her bruised and raw knuckles. "Shall we?"

The fingers of his left hand laced with her right, and his other hand slid around her waist to the bare skin of her back as he drew her closer. The warmth emanating from the tips of his fingers proved to be distracting as he began moving to the music, drawing her with him.

"Something the matter?" he asked after a few moments, picking up on her unease.

"Heels," she replied, blaming her discomfort unaccordingly. "Four inch stilettos, nonetheless. I'm just not used to wearing them anymore."

"So get rid of them." He stopped, allowing her to bend over and remove the shoes, his hand hovering protectively over her back. She straightened, leaving the shoes where they were and pasting a smile on her face. "Better?" he asked.

"Much." The music changed to a more upbeat tempo, much to Sydney's relief. Before she knew it, she was spinning circles across the length of the ballroom, showing off her dancing skills in their true form. Sydney no longer had to force a smile to her face, because it began to be fun. He wasn't a bad dancer himself, and he challenged her as much as he prodded her.

But the mood abruptly changed. He'd spun her out and pulled her back in. But instead of releasing her, he wrapped his arms around her.

"What?" she breathlessly laughed at the serious look that had suddenly lodged itself on his face.

"You're beautiful, you know that?"

"Ethan, don't…" she protested and tried to back away. He held tight. She looked into his face searchingly. "What's going on?"

A deep sigh emerged. "Nothing." He dropped his arms. He turned and began to walk away, she assumed to turn the music off. "You know what? Not nothing." He spun around. "How can you do it, Sydney? How do you just ignore it and pretend you don't feel a damned thing?"

"Ignore what?" She cried out in surprise when he seized her upper arms and dragged her close.

"The chemistry, Sydney. The attraction that we've both felt and tried to deny from the day we first met." His eyes were a stormy blue, staring at her hard—making her so uncomfortable she had to look away.

"I—" she broke off into silence, not knowing exactly what to say.

"You know what? Forget it. Forget I said anything."

And then he was gone, leaving her standing alone once again in the middle of the ballroom floor, the sad jazz music playing on.

For all his faults, abruptness, and assumptions, this time he wasn't wrong, much though she desperately wanted him to be. And she didn't know what scared her more—admitting it to herself, or knowing that he felt the same way.

**Author's Note**: Review and make me a happy camper! Chapter 7 is almost done…


	7. Tired of Fighting

**Story**: Once Upon A Time

**Author**: Steph, aka Fanatic482 (stephanie406@att.net)

**Disclaimer**: Alias and the characters of the show aren't mine. They belong to JJ Abrams, ABC, Bad Robot Productions, etc etc

**Rating**: PG-13 overall, individual chapters that are R will be marked as such

**Spoilers/Summary**: Sequel to "Beyond All Limits"; General Season 1 Spoilers; Sydney and Sark on a private island with one Prophecy goal to fulfill

**Distribution**: Cover Me, Sarkgasm, Dark Enigma yes; all other please ask first

**Thanks To**: Glenna, Jennifer and Becky for the betas!

**Author's Note**: 

This

Chapter

IS

Rated

R

Okay, that's my disclaimer. Read on, leave the reviews; maybe I'll have chapter 8 ready for you in the near future if I'm inspired by lovely reviews *grin* Okay, so that's a lie, but the reviews are nice. Chapter 8 _has_ been started, so no worries. Hee

Chapter Seven: Tired of Fighting

A weary Jack Bristow answered his ringing cell phone without bothering to check the caller ID. The voice of Irina Derevko on the other end had him sitting up ramrod straight in his bed within seconds.

"Hello, Jack," her sultry voice greeted him. "Are you ready to give up following me yet?"

"Not while you still have Sydney," he retorted.

"Jack," she sighed. "Stop being so pig-headedly stubborn for a moment and think about this objectively. You know me well enough to know that you'll never be able to track me down. And even if you _did_, do you honestly think I'd let you have Sydney back before she'd done her part to fulfill the Prophecy?"

"Why do you insist on living your life to bring that madman's works to fruition anyways?" he asked disgruntled, by now knowing quite well that pursuing Irina was, in fact, proving rather hopeless.

"My reasons are my own, Jack." The line fell silent for a moment. "She's fine, you know. He's taking remarkable care of her."

"Why should I even believe you Irina? Little of what you've ever told me was said in good faith."

"Because, in my own way, I do love my daughter. We aren't like most parents, Jack. We don't tend to express our love in normal ways, for Sydney, or anything for that matter." He didn't bother to reply, for she was, once again, right. "Jack?" He grunted in reply. "While our marriage may have been fabricated for reasons unknown to you at the time, there were times when it was real for me as well." And then there was the click of her disconnecting.

He sat for a moment, stunned at her uncharacteristic admission, ending the call only when his phone began to beep at him. For the life of him, he'd never be able to predict that woman's behavior.

Maybe that was why, twenty years later, he still wasn't able to let go of the notion that Laura was only a false front of Irina.

**********

It was the forty-seventh day since Sydney had been forwarded to an undisclosed location from Egypt, and Michael Vaughn was no fool. In the grand world of Rambaldi, and knowing that Sydney had been swept up into it, he knew it was a day of significance. For forty-seven days, he'd lost himself in hopes that she'd be able to escape and make it home.

But now they landmark day had arrived, and she was nowhere to be seen.

He dropped his signed papers off at Devlin's office, accepting a transfer to Langley. He was going home to finish packing, and tomorrow he'd be on a plane across the country, leaving behind everything that was related to SD-6, the Alliance, and Sydney Bristow.

He was going to try and move on with his life. He'd failed at doing his job to protect his asset and the woman he loved. It was time he accepted it, and entered a new phase in his life—one without Sydney, one without having served revenge to the woman who'd ruined his life in more ways than one. Some things, no matter how hard and long you fought for them, would just never be yours.

**********

Every emotion he'd heard about and never personally known had come to pay him a visit. He hated himself for having a weakness, for becoming vulnerable enough to form an attachment to a woman who was merely an assignment. Although, knowing his boss, she'd probably intended everything to happen just the way that it had, had fed what had become an obsession. For as long as he'd known Irina, he'd known her daughter in some form or fashion.

In that one moment six nights ago, everything he'd known had changed. He'd allowed his weakness to break past the carefully fashioned walls. And the small measure of happiness he'd come to know in his entire life had disappeared in one burst of emotion. Ethan had lost control of himself, something he couldn't recall ever doing—there had never been anything to provoke his emotions enough that he would have experienced loss of self-control.

He'd been tired of hiding what he'd been quite surprised to discover—that Sydney Bristow had brought him alive, made him feel things he'd never felt before, made him love. But one moment of reckless passion and thoughtlessness, and he felt he'd lost all chances with the woman who'd changed him forever.

**********

For six days, Sydney had avoided Ethan if at all possible. It wasn't like the previous week when she'd been angry with him. No, this was a protective avoidance. Being around him reminded her of what he'd said, which invariably reminded her of her own revelations.

She was still trying to come to grips with those.

But after six whole days, she was sick and tired of trying to understand those feelings. Despite his being the enemy, despite what she'd seen him do in his line of work, despite the fact that Irina had been the mother figure to him that she'd never been for Sydney, despite the damn Prophecy and everything it entailed, she liked him, truly liked him as a person.

Which still scared the shit out of her. But she'd come to accept it for what it was, come to acknowledge that the skipped heart beats and sharp breaths she took when she saw him was more than a mere reaction to being startled. Especially when she was becoming quite adept at sensing his presence before she saw him. Now, she finally understood that day on the beach, when he'd known she was there without any proof to the contrary.

So here she stood, standing outside his door on day forty-seven. Sydney damned well knew what day it was, and it seemed rather fitting. She'd never been inside his room, and it was the only one in the house that she hadn't searched thoroughly upon arrival. Even then, she'd respected the need for privacy enough not to invade upon his. She raised her hand, noticing the slight trembling in her fingers as she curled them and rapped on his door. She wiped the clammy palm down the sides of her shorts, unknowingly holding her breath. The door opened, and he stood silently on the other side looking at her.

"Hi." She gave him a smile, hoping she didn't appear as nervous as she felt. "Can we talk?" she asked hesitantly.

He opened the door further and she walked brushed past him into the room. Unlike hers, his was an actual suite. She sat down on the couch. Ethan's silence and his refusal to sit were beginning to unsettle her. Fine, so he wasn't going to make this any easier for her. She could deal with that. She hoped.

"About the other night…" she started, then trailed off when he met her eyes. "I'm sorry. It's just that, well, you caught me by surprise and—"

"And you were horrified at even the thought of being attracted to me like that." He sounded bitter, biting, lost. He turned away, staring out his balcony doors.

"No!" she protested, horrified that she'd let it progress this far. She stood and began walking towards him. "Not at all. I just—it scared me to admit that you were right." Ethan turned around, faced her, his eyes probing her to test her words as truth.

"Was I, now?" he asked, a sardonic half smile on his face. His hand lifted, looking like it was coming to tuck her hair behind her ear. He must have changed his mind because he shoved it in his pocket and moved out of her reach. "You know, Sydney, sometimes the world just can't revolve around just you. You're not the only one who's had to live like this—alone, lonely, pained. I spent so much of my life with my emotions turned off, denying anyone and anything that might remind me that I have a soul." He uncapped a bottle of liquor, pouring himself a generous glass and drank it. She moved closer, not allowing herself to let him push her away. Not like she'd done.

Sydney gently pulled the glass out of his hand and set it back on the bar, finally daring to meet his eyes. She almost cried out at what she saw there—emotion so deep and pained that it hurt her to witness, knowing she'd played a part in causing it. His eyes were bloodshot, and she began to wonder just how much he'd had to drink. "Ethan—" she choked out. He pressed a finger to her mouth, halting further words.

"I've spent my whole life with it just being me, Sydney. Spent half of it becoming and being who I am today. Twenty-four lonely years, Sydney. Irina was more a mentor and teacher than anything, and though we shared some affection, it was always her stories about you that caught my interest." He paused, moving away from her, back to staring out the window. "She cares about you, you know, in the only way she can. She kept tabs on you over the years, and in turn, I did too. You were the only reminder either of us had of our humanity, the only thing that kept things in some sort of perspective."

Sydney collapsed onto the couch with a barely caught sob. "Stop," she pleaded. She feared that she'd hurt him more than she'd thought possible.

"Why? So you could just leave behind everything you don't want to confront? So you can continue to deny that a world exists outside yourself? So you don't have to see that people really do count on you? So that you can go back to an unchanged world and proceed with life just like before?" His eyes were ablaze in fury, and though she could read them, she could not meet them.

A lone tear rolled down her cheek. She'd hurt him, and now he was trying to do the same. "No," she protested softly. She looked up to find him standing next to her. Her eyes met his. "Because I care about you. Because I'm your friend. And… because I think I'm in love with you, Ethan. That's why."

Her words had the intended sobering affect on him, and he slowly sank next to her, a stunned look on his face. She bit her lip uncertainly, wishing she knew what he was thinking.

"Ethan?" His finger once again placed itself on her lips.

"Did you mean it?" She nodded. His thumbs came up and wiped away the remains of her tears. And then, as if he doubted her presence, "Are you real?"

A relieved laugh broke free. "Yes," she smiled. "I'm real. You're real. _This_ is real."

And then, he was kissing her. It was everything she'd hoped and knew it would be. Passionate. Tender. Emotional. Soft. Deep. Hard. _Full_. Heart and soul poured out on both sides, sliding past one another, blending until they were one. She could taste the liquor as his tongue dived inside her mouth, tangling with her tongue, trying to possess her. Her hands cupped his face, sliding back to sink into his hair. One hand was already possessively buried in her hair, his other trying to pull her as close as they physically could be. Her body hummed, her heart sang, and her mind sighed "_Finally_."

He pulled back, his hand freeing from her hair to caress her cheek, his thumb softly tracing her bottom lip. She lifted herself from the fog, opening her eyes to see his face alive, truly alive for the first time since their dance six days before. "You won't regret this?"

"I won't."

He studied her. "You're sure?"

"Yes." She smiled, her fingers trying to smooth away the concerned wrinkles on his forehead. She moved to straddle his lap, lacing her fingers with his. "I'm very, _very_ sure about this. About you." She dropped a soft kiss on his lips. "I'm tired of fighting it, Ethan. I want you."

He needed nothing more, as his lips capturing hers once more as his hands possessively slid from her waist up inside her shirt. She moaned her encouragement, fingers wrapping around the curls at the base of his neck. Desperation and passion had her clinging to him, clutching his shirt in her fists.

"Bed would be nice," she managed, as his lips left her mouth and kissed their way down her neck, finding an obstruction in her shirt. And then he was standing, holding her close as her feet slid to the floor, making short order of her shirt. Clothes were scattered in a trail as they made their way towards his bedroom.

"We should take this slow," he whispered into her hair as he guided her onto his bed. Undergarments were all that remained. He sat back, wanting to take it all in, to memorize this image of Sydney in his bed, her hair scattered hazardously across the unmade sheets.

"You do," she teased in a warning tone, and then he was flipped under her, "and your death will be slow and tortured." He buried his hands in her hair, drawing her down for a kiss he was distracted from when her hips twisted suggestively against his. "I wasn't kidding," she breathed, and finally her mouth was on his and her tongue diving inside.

The last scraps of clothing were removed as he rolled her under him again. His hands moved over her, taking in the feel of her bare skin, committing everything about this moment to memory. She was exquisite, and she was all his.

"I love you, Sydney Bristow," he whispered as he slid inside of her. Hot. Wet. _Home_.

It was fast, passionate, driven, more perfect than he'd imagined it could be, and over before he wanted it to be. But as he drew her into his arms and drifted towards sleep, Ethan McMillan was the most at peace with himself that he'd ever been in his whole life.

**Author's Note**: Only cuz I love you people so much are you getting your second chapter within a week's time. *grin* Well, that and a great many of you were sweet enough to click that little purple review button. T'was all the encouragement I needed. That said, review review review!

**Recommendations**: Okay, so here are my recs for Sarkney stories authored by some great people. Of course, I love the stories so much that I'm gonna send you their way (you better too! They're great stories that deserve more reviews and attention than I believe they're getting)

"Circle" by carmensandiego www .fanfiction. net/read.php?storyid=1120570

The series by CG (you can find them off her profile, ff.n user  ID 259212; start with "Unexpected Prospect")

The Sarkgasm Round Robin Fic (www .sarkgasm. com); "Reflection" is the completed Sarkney fic, written by the girls of the Sarkgasm Harem

Okay, enough plugs for the night. And plenty of reading to keep you guys busy!

Remember… Hit that review button!!!!!!!!


	8. Faces of Love

**Story**: Once Upon A Time

**Author**: Steph, aka Fanatic482 (stephanie406@att.net)

**Disclaimer**: Alias and the characters of the show aren't mine. They belong to JJ Abrams, ABC, Bad Robot Productions, etc etc

**Rating**: PG-13 overall, individual chapters that are R will be marked as such

**Spoilers/Summary**: Sequel to "Beyond All Limits"; General Season 1 Spoilers; Sydney and Sark on a private island with one Prophecy goal to fulfill

**Distribution**: Cover Me, Sarkgasm, Dark Enigma yes; all other please ask first

**Thanks To**: CG, Glenna, Jennifer and Becky for the betas!

**Author's Note**: Sorry it's been awhile since the last update (2 weeks seems like forever now!). Just had a hell week in school, but college tends to have those rather frequently… comes with the territory, or so I'm told. At any rate, I'm glad I didn't just hastily throw this up before just to have it posted, because it's just gotten much better. Enjoy, let me know what you think, and definitely leave feedback!

Chapter Eight: Faces of Love 

The sun rose on day forty-eight, illuminating a scene that, the day before, he'd never thought he would see. The woman he loved and who never had ceased to amaze him with her capacity for doing the right thing and her insatiable love of life was here. With him. Out of all the choices she could have made, she'd chosen to submit to what she thought was her destiny, _their_ destiny. More than that was the astounding discovery that, despite everything she knew he was and had done, she'd acknowledged she felt the most amazing thing for him—love. That anyone could love him—well, he'd never thought it possible.

And so he lay beside her, refraining from giving in to the impulses to touch her and reinforce that she was real. He shouldn't need that, even though he found he did. Instead, he would take in the wonder of waking up next to her. Even though she faced away from him, he could appreciate the simple beauty of her in his bed, mussed hair spread over the pillow and her bare shoulders, and clouds tinged pink with the rising sun forming the backdrop beyond her. And Ethan contemplated her, this wonderful thing that had happened between them, the one thing he had never dared to think he could possess.

He'd never allowed himself to sleep next to a woman after sex. Since, in the past, the act only served to fulfill a physical need, he'd honestly never felt the urge to continue to spend time with a woman who'd served her purpose. Given his lifestyle, such urges would have only created unnecessary risks for him. Until last night, he'd never had reason to consider otherwise. But with her, he hadn't even thought not to, because, as with everything Sydney, it felt natural.

To be able to hold her, as they'd fallen asleep, to be able to wake next to her, to watch her smile and mumble in her sleep—not only did it change everything, it also made Ethan wonder how he'd ever lived without her.

Sydney woke slowly the next morning, the early morning sunlight bright enough to have filtered past her eyelids into her subconscious. She lay on her stomach, her arms wrapped around the pillow her head rested on and the sheets wound so tightly around her lower body that she had to wriggle loose before she could properly stretch. In the midst of the yawn that suddenly overcame her, fuzzy recollections of events from the night before began to seep into her awareness. Her mouth snapped shut and she propped herself on her elbows, automatically scanning her surroundings for confirmation that it hadn't all been a dream. Evidence came in the foreign surroundings and in the pair of bright blue eyes that her eyes collided with, coupled with a lazy, contented smile she'd never seen before.

She smiled back. "Hey." She combed her fingers through her hair, finally settling her head on her hand as her body curled almost automatically in his direction. Sydney was vaguely aware of the dull but pleasant ache between her thighs, and that she'd just had the best night's sleep in months, maybe years.

"Morning, love." His eyes brightened and his smile grew larger as his fingers reached out and captured a lock of her hair. He absentmindedly played with the curling end as he asked, "Anything on your agenda for today?"

Pointless question really, she thought—she _never_ had an "agenda" anymore. But still… he'd thought to ask, rather than assume, if she wanted to spend the day with him.

"Only if it involves you," she grinned and blew him a kiss. His hands caught hold of her, one on her hip and the other behind her head, threaded through her hair, and she laughed as he tugged her closer. "Guess this means I have a full day ahead of me, hmm?" she sighed happily, and used his shoulder as a pillow, enjoying listening to the heartbeat she had once doubted he had, before she'd discovered how different Ethan was from the persona he projected as Mr. Sark. Sometimes, finding out just how wrong your assumptions were wasn't so bad.

He was quickly becoming addicted to everything about her, about being with her. Life before this time with Sydney had already lost its clarity, a testament to the fact that she'd been his focus for longer than he cared to admit. He dropped a kiss into her hair, smiling when she shifted to look at him.

"This is nice," she confessed. Her signature bright smile emerged when his hand caught hers and their hands settled palm to palm on his stomach, rising and falling with each breath he took.

"Yeah. It is." His throat constricted tightly. He'd never acted in such a way that would merit his earning a woman like Sydney, let alone her love. His life had been lived on a day-to-day basis, looking out for himself only, acting in his best interests. Irina had taught him to view the larger picture, to learn how to operate within it so that he fit into it best. But Sydney, she was teaching him to care, to feel—things he'd thought he was beyond needing or wanting to know.

No longer was it him alone; no, it was him and her, _them_, that he was beginning to think in terms of. It was a different kind of big picture than he'd previously known, and so much more personal. There was a first time for everything, he supposed.

Love was a funny thing; in many ways, it was easier than trust to achieve. Ethan could only hope that trusting love would be in their favor.

They showered together when they finally managed to rouse themselves from the cocoon of his bed. Her hair now smelled of his shampoo; her skin carried the scent of his soap. Her body felt on fire, tingling and hypersensitive in the wake of the trail his hands forged. She dried him off, and his eyes glowed a bright sapphire blue as he returned the favor. And then, Ethan picked her up and carried her back to his bed.

They took their time making love, and it was slow and tender in comparison to the nearly volatile and hurried coupling the night before. And unlike last night, Sydney no longer simply _thought_ she loved him. She in fact _knew_ and was fully aware that she loved Ethan. They lay afterwards, facing each other and coming off their high together, his arm slung low over her hip and his fingers tracing random patterns in the small of her back, she combing his now dry but messy hair. And she happily whispered, "I love you, Ethan McMillan," a reciprocation to his declaration of love the night before.

It was late in the afternoon before they emerged from the bedroom and headed for the kitchen, their stomachs cramping in hunger. But the bodily satisfaction they felt more than made up for the minor discomfort. The happy, knowing smile Maria gave them as they entered the kitchen laughing and holding hands, let Sydney know that the elderly woman was pleased at the latest turn of events.

So much of her time with Ethan had been spent being at odds with him that Sydney imagined it was of great relief to the four other people on the island that their issues with each other no longer existed. She couldn't blame them, knowing how awkward it must have been for Maria especially, since she was the one most involved in their daily routine. Sydney wouldn't have wanted to bear witness her last nearly seven weeks with Ethan either. So she placed a kiss on Maria's cheek and asked her what was around for them to eat.

Later that night, long after he fell asleep by her side, Sydney lay with her arms once again wrapped around her pillow, her eyes focused on his sleeping face. Ethan looked younger in his slumber, his face reflecting a youthful boyishness that his carefully schooled face hid during waking hours.

Beyond him, a soft rain fell outside, trickling down the glass and out of sight. Sydney was certain that they had only begun their perilous, long journey towards home, knew that some of the rain would never find its way to the ocean. She briefly wondered if she herself would ever find her way to a place she could call home. And she remembered, with a smile, the early morning confrontation thirty-four days prior—standing in the rain, confronting Ethan, learning his name… Separately and together, they'd come so far in such a short time. Or considering their limiting circumstances and the compressed nature the island provided them, maybe the stubbornness in both their natures had them a little behind.

At any rate, Sydney fervently and desperately hoped that this love match, fostered in a sheltered situation and completely against their nature as enemies, would not have the disastrous end all her relationships seemed to have in common. Her life was like the never-ending play where every person she touched suffered a tragic ending. She sighed deeply. For all her literary education, the best analogy she could come up with for her life was to call it a tragedy, but it summed it up rather well.

            She frowned as her mind drew disturbing parallels between her life and the famous tale of the star-crossed lovers, Romeo and Juliet. Their warring intelligence organizations were like the Montagues and Capulets, with fights, revenge and death well accounted for. She tried to shake free the unpleasant thought, her gaze once again settling on the man asleep beside her and a soft smile curled the corners of her mouth. No, she refused to be the next Juliet, wouldn't let Ethan be her Romeo, though she could now well imagine not wanting to live without him.

She'd long believed that her life had been cursed from the womb. Every bright spot in her life was somehow snuffed out as trust, love and people died, left or got taken away. All Sydney could hope for was that when Ethan left her—as she knew he eventually would because it was just what people around her did—that she would be spared the accompanying pain. And she could pray that she, just once, could love without becoming too attached. For now, she was going to selfishly hold close what she could.

Her hand crept out from under her pillow and reached for the hand that lay by his shoulder, curling her fingers inside his and smiling as he shifted and reflexively tugged their hands closer to his heart. Slowly, his eyes blinked open. The rain clouds blocked the moonlight that would have let her see what shade of blue they were.

"You're still awake." His voice was deep, heavy with the sleep he'd left behind.

"Couldn't sleep."

He lifted their hands and placed a soft kiss in her palm. "Not for my lack of trying to tire you," he teased, his lips wearing the cocky grin she'd once hated with great passion.

"No," she smiled softly. A deep breath, an exhaled contented sigh. "I was just enjoying watching you sleep."

"Spying on me," he accused, his voice laced with humor.

"I'd plead the 5th, but I doubt that U.S. law would do me much good in the South Pacific."

"Probably not."

"Mmm… That's what I thought." She simultaneously turned to her other side and wiggled backwards so that their bodies spooned together, his arm wrapped around her so that their still joined hands rested near her heart. "Much better," she whispered, smiling when he placed a soft kiss on the tender spot behind her earlobe, his breath warm against her neck as his head settled on the pillow behind hers. Her eyes began to close as sleep finally began to overcome her.

"Sleep tight, love," she distantly heard him whisper, her mind already drifting.

No, she definitely wouldn't become a Juliet, wouldn't let him be her Romeo. Not when she'd fought to escape death so many times, and not when a star-crossed lover's tale meant certain death for both of them. She'd just have to find something else to compare them to.

**********

Sasha Ivanov had spent the past seven weeks impatiently waiting. Usually, his work required him to do more than just sitting around, drumming his fingers. Then again, Irina was normally not one to waste precious resources, her best operative and bodyguards, without some large payoff. Sasha had not been told the details of the operation Sark was performing, but had heard Irina's long-estranged patriotic American daughter mention a Prophecy more than once. No matter. He had been quite assured that his diligence would be well recompensed come the end of this particular job.

He'd waited until he was certain they had gone to bed for the night before he unearthed his carefully hidden cell phone. Because it would never do in this profession to have phone numbers programmed into something easily lost or stolen, he dialed the number he had committed to memory long ago.

"Yes?" she asked, answering his call on the second ring. He briefly wondered where she was, if he was interrupting anything. But she did not sound impatient, so he decided that, if anything, he had her attention.

He wasted no time. "They've become intimate." When dealing with his employer, it was detrimental to be vague. Irina Derevko did not appreciate her time being wasted.

"Right on schedule." Her voice was brisk, but her tone was pleased. "Inform me if there are any changes, Sasha."

"I will."

"I appreciate your calling me. As discussed, you will be well rewarded for this assignment. I know that you were not pleased to receive it. When Sark leaves, so will you. Larry will stay with Sydney. You may relay as much to him." And then there was the click of the phone call being disconnected.

Sasha ended the call and turned the phone off, returning it to its hiding place. _Soon_, he comforted himself. Soon, he would be back in the world he enjoyed, one where loyalty to the right person gave you everything you ever wanted, and acting without questioning reaped more benefits than one man could enjoy in a lifetime. Yes, Sasha enjoyed his job, enjoyed working for the brilliant woman he called his boss. And, though her daughter was equally intelligent, he found her not nearly as intriguing to watch. But then again, that was why he was here—to be the objective one. His lips curved in a smile. Maybe his being here wasn't such a mystery after all.

**Author's Note**: One last plea for me to get reviews…. You know I live for those little buggers! Oh yes, and I have one more story recommendation to make:

Bikinis & Towels, by evonness (ff.n storyid=1284101, author ID 361092); trust me, it's an amazing story…. Humor, angst, UST—just Sarkney at the height of it's greatness!


	9. Wasting Time

**Story**: Once Upon A Time

**Author**: Steph, aka Fanatic482 (stephanie406@att.net) 

**Disclaimer**: Alias and the characters of the show aren't mine. They belong to JJ Abrams, ABC, Bad Robot Productions, etc etc

**Rating**: PG-13 overall, individual chapters that are R will be marked as such

**Spoilers/Summary**: Sequel to "Beyond All Limits"; General Season 1 Spoilers; Sydney and Sark on a private island with one Prophecy goal to fulfill

**Distribution**: Cover Me, Sarkgasm, Dark Enigma yes; all other please ask first

**Thanks To**: Glenna, Jennifer, CG and Riane for the betas!

**Author's Note**: Meant to have this posted yesterday, since it was my birthday and I wanted some birthday reviews… But alas, being that it's finals week, that plan was shot down. At any rate, the chapter has finally arrived… R&R!

**This**

**Chapter**

**Is**

**Rated**

**R**

**_Chapter Nine: Wasting Time_**

Sydney had left to change into her bathing suit and spend some "quality time" down on the beach, so Ethan had unearthed his cell phone from its hiding spot to make his random check-in call to Irina.

She'd skipped pleasantries, as usual, and immediately got to the point of the conversation as far as she was concerned.

"Well?" she asked impatiently, and in his mind's eye he could picture her in her office, her legs crossed with a foot tapping a pattern on the rug under her heavy oak desk. It didn't matter what office in any of her numerous homes—there was an oak desk in all of them; her attempt at regulating some aspect of her life, Ethan supposed. "Is she pregnant yet or not?"

Calmly he replied, "It's simply too soon to tell yet. If she suspects anything, she has yet to inform me. And the situation is too precarious to demand proof one way or another."

A heavy sigh traveled over the line, and then her voice issued an order. "You _will_ find out something by the next you call me, Mr. Sark. The operation suffers without you."

It was as close as she'd ever come to telling him she needed his services and depended on him personally.

"Yes, of course, Irina," he'd dutifully answered, half listening to the majority of the conversation that followed. He'd stood at his balcony door, feet curling into the plush carpet, waiting to catch sight of Sydney on her way to the beach, as much to assure himself that she wasn't eavesdropping as to watch her unobserved. He knew she was likely headed towards the hammock. She finally appeared, her hair tucked into the ridiculous floppy beach hat she'd recently become attached to, and he was barely able to distinguish the strap of her top that indicated she wore the red halter bikini he loved. The sway of her hips covered in an indecent pair of khaki shorts distracted him until she disappeared from sight. The last words she'd suggestively whispered to him as she'd climbed out of his bed, "Don't make me wait down there all alone for long," echoed in his mind.

He finally became aware of Irina trying to catch his attention as she barked, "Mr. Sark!" He grunted in acknowledgement as he turned and walked away from the balcony into his sitting room to sprawl on the couch.

She released an aggravated sigh in his ear. "Don't go and become too attached to her. The development of attachment to people is detrimental to a person in this business." Her voice had softened, but after a pause she resumed speaking in her normal brisk tone. "I expect to hear from you before another month of this 'charade' you're putting on has gone by." The line clicked as she disconnected. He flipped the phone shut and carefully returned the phone to the hidden safe before leaving his room. There was a beautiful girl sitting on the beach waiting for him to join her, and he intended to make sure she wasn't disappointed.

**********

Today, it was three weeks exactly since she'd appeared at his door; sixty-nine total days on this island, and Sydney only found twenty-one of them as worthy of being counted. He had that effect on her. Being with him—well, she had a hard time thinking of another time in her life which had brought her this level of contentment and happiness, and certainly not for quite this length of time. She was willing to concede that all the credit was due to the change in her relationship with Ethan.

Sydney sighed, grateful for the rush of cool air a sudden breeze sent past her. Between the constantly hot temperatures, equal hours of day and night, and what she vaguely remembered from an astronomy class she'd taken as an undergrad, Sydney had been able to approximate the island's location to be near the equator and closer to Australia than South America.

Not that she cared anymore. In the beginning, she'd contemplated waiting by the helipad and trying to make her escape after the weekly delivery of food. But she'd been carefully watched, and even then she hadn't found the experience so unpleasant as to risk her life. The past three weeks had passed quietly, and so she had no reason to wish to leave. She had to concentrate and flip through her memories to find recollections of a time when things with Ethan had been anything but what they currently were. She had to search even harder to find a time, any time for any length at all, that she had been nearly as content and at peace as she was now.

There was one tiny imperfection to this picture—the Prophecy. For the past twenty-one days, it had weighed particularly heavily on her mind. If her mother and Rambaldi were to be believed, there was going to be a baby soon. By her own calculations, it would be very soon indeed.

She'd been due for her birth control shot the day after her capture. Sydney was certain that her mother had somehow known that.

Reality was a hard pill to swallow, because she knew that the sooner she knew she was pregnant, the sooner Ethan would have to leave. In fact, the sooner he left, the sooner Ethan would again fade into the background, superseded by the illustrious persona Mr. Sark. She'd seen what Sark was capable of. The thought that frightened her was that no matter how much she loved Ethan, she couldn't stop what was probably the inevitable. She couldn't save him from his dark side any more than she could save herself from loving him.

The foot she had planted in the sand served to push the hammock into motion. It was strung between two palm trees at the base of a small peninsula of land that jutted into the ocean. More trees and foliage hid all reminders of civilization from view. She loved that about this spot—that as far as she could look in all directions, all she saw was unmarred beauty. It lent to the serenity of the spot. And at times, when she needed a place to go and sort her thoughts, this was where she came.

Tentatively, as the hammock settled into a rhythm, her right hand settled over her lower stomach, her fingers dancing lightly over the skin. She wondered if her body housed a miracle yet. One thing Sydney knew about her body was that, regardless of the birth control her job required she take as a precaution, as well as to insure her continued presence in the field, her periods had always been regular. After Danny's death the year before, she hadn't kept up with her scheduled birth control shots, and so she knew when to expect her periods to begin again. Her body had settled immediately back into it's old rhythm, then, and she had expected no different this time around. It had come before, a few weeks into their stay.

She'd expected it again seven days ago. It hadn't come.

She shifted restlessly, drawing her right leg up and propping both her feet on the edge of the hammock. She tried to let the serenity of the scenery sooth the uneasy and knotted feeling weighing her stomach down.

Soon enough, she'd know either way.

The palm trees shading the hammock ruffled as another gust of wind blew by. Her hand settled under the waistband of her shorts, and her thumb softly stroked back and forth over the skin. If there wasn't a baby yet, there would be soon—such was the nature of their situation.

Fleetingly, Sydney wished—despite her current happiness with Ethan—that she'd never come to this island. She wished, for all his well meant intentions, that Will hadn't investigated Danny's death. Wished desperately that Rambaldi had not chosen to prophesize about her family, that Taipei had never happened, that she hadn't told Vaughn she loved him.

She'd begun calling Michael Vaughn by his last name as a professional courtesy. Now, she knew it had been a protective measure to keep him at arm's length from her. She didn't know why she hadn't realized this before, that by calling him Vaughn instead of Michael, she had cemented his place as a co-worker and confidant, nothing more. She did love him, in a way—as a person, as a friend, as the handler that looked after her best interests when she was too preoccupied with other distractions to think straight. She knew now, and had known since she'd voiced those little words heavy with meaning, that she could never fall _in love_ with him, couldn't love him the way he loved her.

Her hand dropped to her side, and Sydney stared at the waves as they capped and crashed to shore. She thought how wonderfully strange her life was at times, and how utterly surreal it seemed, happy and sad alike.

**********

Ethan stood down the beach, leaning against a palm tree with his hands in the pockets of his khakis and watching the sway of the hammock. The expanse of white, hot sand between him and where his gaze landed glared in a reflection of the beating mid-afternoon sun.

Sydney had been acting distant and withdrawn the past few days. His conversation with Irina weighing heavy and recent in his mind, Ethan was fairly certain he knew the reason behind Sydney's behavior.

This morning, he'd even gone so far as to open his mouth and almost ask her outright. In an uncharacteristic move, he'd asked her if she was happy instead of the intended questioning about what was bothering her. Her eyes still heavy with sleep, she'd smiled sweetly up at him as she'd answered, "Of course I'm happy, Ethan. You're here. With me. In bed." A distraction named Sydney Bristow had then taken precedence over analyzing his abrupt change in intentions or pursuing his original question. He had a feeling she wouldn't have told him anyways.

Of their own accord, his feet began to lead him across the sandy expanse towards Sydney. His fingers caught hold of the hammock and stilled its motion. "Sydney."

She tilted her head back to look up at him, her brown velvet eyes peeking out at him from beneath the brim of her distractingly large, white, floppy beach hat. He laughed at how ridiculous and amazingly child-like she looked, and then moved around to join her on the hammock. "Christ, you look bloody ridiculous in that thing," he commented.

A smile tugged the corners of her mouth upwards. "I could say the same about some of the things _you_ wear, Mr. If-it's-haute-couture-it's-worth-wearing."

"Point taken," he grinned. "Although, I do believe nothing surpasses the things you've worn for your missions." He grunted when she slapped his chest playfully.

"Not my choice to wear that stuff, and you very well know that," she countered, wrinkling her nose at him. She shifted, careful to keep her skin from touching his as much as possible. It was a sweet attempt at courtesy, given the temperature. She'd been outside long enough that her skin glowed with a fine sheen of sweat.

Not surprisingly, Sydney could even make sweating seem like a carefully planned seduction. Planned or not, he willfully succumbed to the power she held over him and proceeded to stare unabashedly.

He started from his intent observation when her gaze met his at the same time that he became aware of her fingers threading through his hair. She laughed—a light, tinkling, sweetly Sydney laugh—and her beautiful eyes lit up in a way that told him she was enjoying her laugh at his expense.

"What?" he asked. Sydney and her mother were the only people in the world that held the power to make him feel self-conscious.

Her smile grew—she knew exactly what she'd done. "Nothing much," she answered. She giggled when he narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously. "I was just observing how much you need a haircut is all. It finally occurred to me how much younger you look when you're all unkempt." Her fingers slipped free of the particular subject at hand, settling above her head.

"Mmm…" he mumbled his agreement, trailing off as his fingers moved to dance over the tempting expanse of her skin to capture her hand. "I think what I _really_ need at the moment," he teased, catching her by surprise when he stood and pulled her up with him, "is you out of that cute little outfit."

Her laughter bubbled forth again, and she only gave a half-hearted protest when her hat was tossed carelessly into the sand as he pulled her close for an unobstructed kiss. It instantly became deep as she tilted her head to provide him with the best angle to delve possessively into her mouth. The temperature felt like it had shot up to unbearable levels as impatient hands pulled and tugged clothing off, leaving shorts, a bathing suit and a shirt lying forgotten on the sand. His skin burned where her touch passed, and their sweat caused flesh to slide over flesh.

Sydney nudged him backwards, following as he took the hint and moved towards the ocean. The water was cool against his skin, replacing the salty sweat of the sun with the salt of the sea as he stopped when the water was waist deep. He braced them against the waves at her back, her kiss distracting him from noticing that she was wrapping her legs around his waist until the thrust of her hips encouraged his entry inside her. The natural buoyancy of the water helped to keep her afloat, because he wasn't sure he would have been able to on his own. She gasped in pleasure as he filled her, her teeth biting into the skin of his collarbone and almost inhaling a mouthful of the wave that forced her even closer to him.

He could have come then, to see her arching her back in pleasure, her nails digging half moons into his shoulders as she slowly and torturously lifted and lowered herself. His hands found purchase on her hips and encouraged her pace to quicken, moaning in pleasure with her and desperately trying to keep them from crashing to shore with the waves.

Stars began to sparkle beneath his eyelids when he closed his eyes and caused his vision to sharpen and blur at the same time when his eyes were open. And then, finally, she was crying out, her vaginal muscles contracting around him and sending him crashing over the edge, crying her name and holding her tight until he could see clearly once more.

Somehow, his knees held out long enough to get them to shore. She laughed as they tumbled into the wet sand, the incoming waves crashing over them.

"You're going to kill me, you know," he gasped, unable to keep the grin off his face.

Sydney propped herself on her elbow and leaned over to place a kiss on his mouth. "Well, I admit that I've tried to once or twice." She grinned down at him, her hand reaching up to his hair. Clumps of sand raked against his skin as she fingered the pieces over his forehead. "Regardless, you _still_ need a haircut."

"You," he growled, reaching for her hips and pulling her to straddle him. She was laughing again, and the sand bit into his skin painfully when she circled her hips suggestively. "You," he began again, barely retaining his thoughts, "are a minx."

Her hands slid up his chest as she sank closer to him. The mischievous look in her eyes lent to the seduction as her lips pulled his earlobe into her mouth, her tongue teasing the skin. She let go, pulling back enough that he could look her in the eye again. "Yes, I suppose I'd better be a minx to be involved with the likes of you." He narrowed his eyes, playing along with her, letting her think he was deciding if he should be insulted or not. "But," her voice dropped to a throaty whisper in his ear, "I have to be insatiable as well."

Thought became a forgone process as Ethan gave himself to her again.

**********

Hidden in the abundant foliage, Sasha had passively watched the scene unfold on the beach. He wasn't there out of voyeuristic intentions. Since, in his opinion, Sark had lost his edge where Miss Bristow was concerned, Sasha had made a point of keeping tabs on her in the past few weeks. Irina had told him to be watching for any changes, and he knew that if anything were to change, Irina's emotional daughter would be the one to let it be known. She was predictable, if nothing else.

Besides, the sooner whatever this Prophecy entailed actually happened, the sooner this god-forsaken assignment would be over. Ten weeks already spent doing nothing but honing his skills of appearing to be a non-threatening presence. It was starting to rankle Sasha.

Eyes narrowing one last time at the subjects of his discontent, he turned and made his way towards the house. He'd found working out to be a great outlet for his enclosed frustration.

**********

She could see the apprehension in his eyes as soon as she stepped into the kitchen. The sun had set on the day, and a cool night breeze drifted in the open windows. He sat in a chair he'd moved into an area big enough for her to move around as she cut his hair. She was armed with a towel, scissors, a comb, and soft music playing from the CD player she'd deposited on the counter.

"Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

She rolled her eyes. "Seriously, Ethan, how hard could it be?" She gestured to the sink. "Wet your hair, please."

She smiled when he emerged from under the faucet with water running in rivulets off his face.

"Sit," she ordered, pointing to the chair she stood behind. When he did, she wrapped the towel around his bare shoulders after she'd dried his face. His eyes flicked up to meet hers. "What are you so worried about?"

"You. With scissors. Enough said."

She laughed. "Sweetheart, it _is_ just hair. If I bungle this up, you'll have plenty of time to grow it out before you face civilization again."

"Not funny, Sydney," he grumbled.

"I was kidding, Ethan. Even if it's true," she admonished. "Relax," she smiled, and moved behind him, comb in hand and the scissors tucked into the pocket of her shorts.

She combed through his hair, smiling in self-satisfaction as the tension in his shoulders ebbed away until he was practically slumped in the chair asleep.

Sydney stood in the bathroom, being extremely careful to stand still as her mother had asked. Through the mirror, Sydney was able to watch her mother lift the comb and gently pull it though Sydney's long, wet hair. Her mother smiled when she caught Sydney's gaze in the mirror, before returning her gaze to the task at hand.

_"You have beautiful hair, Sydney. A lot like mine was when I was your age."_

_"How old were you when you cut it?"_

_Her mother quirked a half smile and turned Sydney around before handing her the hairbrush. "Much older than you are now. About fifteen, I think. Now, go to my bedroom and ask your father to dry your hair for you." Her mother pressed a kiss to Sydney's cheek, and pulled back to whisper, "I love you, Sydney. Never forget that."_

_"I love you, too, Mommy!" she'd replied. Her mother's fingers had tucked Sydney's hair behind her ear, a serious look on her face that was gone when her father appeared in the doorway._

_"Ready to get your hair dried, pumpkin?" he'd asked, winking at Sydney._

_"Yep!" she'd answered, squealing when her father had picked her up and tossed her in the air._

She'd been six years old. Her mother had "died" the following day. Her father had never dried her hair for her again.

Sydney pulled the scissors from her pocket, smiling in satisfaction at the sharp sound of the scissors cutting off the curls she loved so much at the nape of his neck. Gradually and methodically, she worked her up the back of his head. She couldn't help but smile when he shifted in the chair when she moved to his right side and cut the hair directly above his ear.

"Hold still," she warned. "I don't want your moving around to accidentally take off the top of your ear."

"I doubt nothing when you're armed with scissors aimed at my head," he grumbled good-naturedly, but stilled his movement.

"Considering the vast skills I've acquired as a double agent superspy, I should hope not. But I'd never harm your ears intentionally—they're too cute to be damaged." He snorted his disbelief but refrained from comment, allowing the sharp sound of the scissors to once again fill the silence between them.

Five minutes later, she was satisfied with that side and moved to the left. She settled into a rhythm, quickly working her way up, hair sticking uncomfortably to her fingers in clumps. She quickly brushed what she could off onto the towel.

"Lean your head forward," she ordered, moving to straddle his knees. His eyes lit mischievously before doing as she'd requested. As she worked her way from back to front, he progressively lifted his head to provide her with the best angle. Catching sight of a clump of hair that had fallen on top of his left ear, she bent forward and blew it off, grinning when he began to squirm. She met his gaze, her breath hitched and her heart skipped a beat to see that his eyes were a blue darkened by what she'd come to recognize as desire. It was a look she'd become accustomed to the past three weeks.

"Sydney—" His voice sounded strangled in that one word, warning that he was nearing the point of saying 'to hell with it' and taking her on the kitchen table behind her.

And still, she innocently asked, "Yes?"

"Hurry. _Please_."

"Almost done," she reassuringly whispered. She finished the last of it quickly, laying aside the scissors and combing her fingers through his hair to shake free any loose hair.

"There. Finished. I just hope I got it the way you like it."

"At this point, who gives a damn what it looks like?" he growled, balling up the towel and flinging it across the room. His hands reached for her hips and pulled her down to straddle his lap.

"Now who's the insatiable one?" she managed before his lips claimed hers.

"I'll always be insatiable when it comes to you, Sydney," he promised as he pulled back from the kiss, a crooked smile on his face.

"Glad to hear it," she smiled, sliding off his lap when he stood. She raised her eyebrows when he walked her backwards until she hit the counter. "What if someone comes in?"

"Then they'll get a helluva lot more than they bargained for when they decided on a late night snack." His eyes were glowing bright as he leaned in for a kiss, then proceeded to make good on his words.

She couldn't help but to love this man, even if he proved to be her undoing.

**Shameless Self-Promotion**: I wrote a little Sydney self-introspective piece, **Full Circle**, that I would love you guys to read and review… Just go to my author profile and you'll find it listed under my works.

**Recommendations**:   
 "Innocence," (Story ID 1326937) by evonness (ID 361092), with Sark and an OC; amazing read

"Fire and Ice," (Story ID 1326964) by Riane (ID 345580), a Sarkney fic

"Southern Cross," (Story ID 1325311) by CG (ID 259212), an amazing Syd/Lennox fic


	10. Falls Apart

**Story**: Once Upon A Time

**Author**: Steph, aka Fanatic482 (stephanie406@att.net) 

**Disclaimer**: Alias and the characters of the show aren't mine. They belong to JJ Abrams, ABC, Bad Robot Productions, etc etc

**Rating**: PG-13 overall, individual chapters that are R will be marked as such

**Spoilers/Summary**: Sequel to "Beyond All Limits"; General Season 1 Spoilers; Sydney and Sark on a private island with one Prophecy goal to fulfill

**Distribution**: Cover Me, Sarkgasm, Dark Enigma yes; all other please ask first

**Thanks To**: carmensandiego (Glenna) and CG (Nicole) for the betas!

**Author's Note:** *buries face and hands and moans in apology* I'm so very very VERY sorry, guys, that it's been so long since I've updated. Life, well… it's life. After Spring semester's finals, I moved home for the summer. Had a helluva time trying to find a summer job (which I never did find. Wound up just working for a bunch of temp employment agencies). And between all the general craziness of life and being at home again, writing kinda took a back seat. Whenever I had time, I lacked inspiration, and vice versus. Anyhow, it's done… All 8 pages of it. A frickin' monstrosity this story turned out to be… I see maybe another 3 chapter into this story, and here's the kicker… I have another plot bunny for yet another story in the series. Wanna kill me yet? Hee… I know I wanna kill my bunnies… they won't leave me alone and stop planting fic ideas in my head!

Read. Review. Enjoy!

**WARNING: RATED R CHAPTER. YOU HAVE BEEN FOREWARNED**

On the morning of day ninety-four, she had left Ethan to shower alone and headed towards her room to do the same. Despite the intimate nature of their relationship, she'd kept her room as a kind of security blanket. It made her feel safe to know she had a place to go if she needed to, a space that was just hers… she also knew he was well aware of what she was doing and why, knew that he understood more than most people cared to admit.

She'd been halfway between the doors of their bedrooms when the first wave of nausea sent her scurrying towards her bathroom, her hand clamped to her mouth. She spent twenty minutes dry heaving over the toilet. It was the final confirmation that she'd needed, and now knew without a doubt that she was pregnant. She'd missed her second period three days ago, and had spent more time napping as her normal routine wore her out.

She cried, curling her legs in and wrapping her arms around them, leaning against the cool marble of the bathtub. Sobs were muffled against her left knee, her teeth burying painfully in the tender skin, serving to remind her that it was all very real. She hadn't wanted this, not so soon. Not when it meant her fragile existence was now thrown into a perilous position of uncertainty once again.

As soon as he stepped through his doorway into the hallway, a faint sound sent chills up his spine. He moved quickly, his senses heightened and his heart racing. It was only when he'd entered Sydney's room that he as able to identify the sound—she was crying. He skidded to a stop outside of the bathroom as his eyes encountered the sight of her curled against the bathtub and sobbing. He watched her rock back and forth, her face barely visible behind a curtain of hair. And he knew. He'd been watching her for close to a month now, had seen her agitation and worry, and knew exactly what was on her mind. It hadn't been far from his mind either—he knew what pregnancy meant for them. He'd been too susceptible to the passion that powered them to worry about losing her; now he knew it should have been the first thing on his mind now that he had her.

"Sydney," he started softly, moving to crouch next to her. His hand reached tentatively, pulling her hair back so he could see her face. The tears streamed out of red eyes, her cheeks puffy with the tears and her lips trembling with every sob. The sight tore at his gut. "Come here," he whispered tightly, pulling her into his arms and carrying her out of the bathroom. Her arms wound tightly around his neck, pulling him down with her as he set her on the bed. Finally, her gaze met his for a few painful seconds before skittering away as she turned away from him and curled into a ball in the middle of the bed.

Sighing, wanting to help but not knowing how to reach her through the suffocating emotions wound around her, he settled behind her, draping an arm over her waist. His fingers were drawn like magnets to her lower stomach. Burying his face into the curve of her neck, he breathed in the scent that was uniquely Sydney. The fingers of his right hand combed soothingly through her hair, and, slowly but surely, her crying slowed to a few occasional sniffles. His mind sifted through the barrage of thoughts charging their way into his brain, but one thing and one thing only stood out to him—they were having a baby. It was the true culmination of their time together, prophesied, yes, but more profound because of the love each had found for the other.

He'd thought that maybe she'd drifted off to sleep; she was so quiet, her breathing slow and measured. He couldn't be sure how long they'd lain there like they had—time had no hold over him when she was near. Suddenly her left hand reached down to intertwine with his, letting him know she was very much awake. "Ethan?" she asked, her voice quiet, trembling, and unsure.

His lips tickled against her skin as he answered. "I'm here, love," he reassured her, tightening his hold on her hand and hoped she wouldn't say anything to ruin this moment—this perfect moment where it was just them and their love and what it had created. He slowly exhaled the deep breath he'd been holding, and she actually giggled.

"That tickles," she protested, and he smiled against her neck.

"Sydney?" She twisted and turned until she faced him.

"Yeah?"

"We're having a baby." He couldn't keep the smile from coming and growing so large it threatened to crack his face. Her own eyes softened as she was drawn into the moment with him, though the smile on her face didn't reach her eyes nor alleviate the emotion that rested there.

"Yeah. We are." Her head dropped onto his arm and her eyes closed, as much to avoid further discussion as to allow the sleep she needed after her emotional outbreak to finally respite her tired body. He dropped a kiss on her forehead and extracted his arm from under her head.

He had a phone call to make, much though the thought rankled him. For the safety of everyone involved, he had to play the game the way the rules had been written. The lives he and Sydney had chosen, or maybe that had chosen them, was dangerous enough under normal circumstances. But now, more than their lives were at stake. And for once, he was going to put someone else before himself, even if it meant leaving the love of his life behind.

**********

Irina, of course, had been inordinately pleased to receive the unexpected phone call from him. She'd immediately made plans to extract him from the island later that day. He refused to give in to his desire to ask her to hold off until the helicopter next made a food drop—he didn't want her to have the pleasure of knowing just how hard this was going to be for him.

**********

Ethan had returned to her room and sat by her side, watching her as she slept, and knowing it would be the last time he would allow himself the pleasure. When sight no longer satisfied him, he bent over and kissed her lips gently, slowly increasing the pressure until his kiss woke her. She returned it, smiling lazily up at him after he broke it off.

"Hey," she whispered. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

He placed his right index finger over her lips to silence her. Eyes solely concentrating on her mouth, his thumb began to outline the curve of her upper lip until he couldn't refrain from kissing her again. He was pleased when she opened her mouth and deepened the kiss.

"Trust me," he whispered as his lips broke from hers to leave a trail of kisses down her throat, "my motivations are purely selfish."

She moaned, and he didn't know if it was in agreement with his words or response to his tongue lingering at the fascinating hollow at the base of her throat. Her hands reaching for him and threading tightly through his hair was definitely a positive indication that he should continue his careful ministrations.

His hands settled on her hips, slipping under the cotton tank of her pajama set that she still wore. Since he knew this would be their last time together in a long while, if ever again, Ethan was determined to make it all about her. The guttural sounds she continued to make encouraged his actions as his hands slowly stroked across her skin as they became reacquainted with all that they knew intimately and well.

At an agonizingly slow pace, he removed their clothing, tossing them over his shoulder onto the floor. Her shirt followed by his, her shorts followed by his, and her underwear followed by his. By the time the final barrier between them was removed, Sydney's skin was hypersensitive to his touch and his skin burned where her fingers gripped and slid, her nails scratching across his back.

He kissed her lips, nibbling on her bottom lip, moaning as she dragged her nails down his spine. "Sydney," he gasped. She took the opportunity to slip her tongue into his mouth, catching him off guard.

He almost forgot his intentions to take this time slow, especially when she broke the kiss. "Now, Ethan. Now," she pleaded, tilting her hips into his as she tangled her fingers into the curls at the nape of his neck. Who would he ever be to deny her what she wanted or deserved?

His lips pressed against her collarbone, he did as she asked. Her sharp intake of breath whispered in his ear, urging him on, harder, better, more. Sheer will forced him to hold himself back until the tension in her muscles gave way to her orgasm. He spiraled into oblivion with her, refusing to allow himself any thoughts beyond this moment with her.

"Why is it," her murmured into her hair as he rolled off of her, "that I can never seem to get enough of you?"

"Mmm… I dunno. I seem to suffer the same dilemma myself," she confessed with a wry grin, curling into his embrace and resting her head next to his on the pillow. The pads of her fingers softly began stroking the inside of the wrist of his arm that lay between them.

Thoughts raced through her mind, finally settling on one. A few deep breaths later, she finally mustered the courage to ask "Ethan?"

"What?" came the soft reply.

"What's wrong?" A hesitation. "Why—" He turned his head to look at her. She swallowed. "Why does this feel like goodbye?" she whispered, not prepared for the look in his eyes when his gaze met hers. Angry. Torrential. Frustrated. Upset. Bare. _Naked_. The blue was darker than she'd ever seen color his eyes, and she'd seen them darkened by an array of primal emotions before—frustration, anger… desire. But she'd never seen them this dangerous. Never seen this color.

"Because it is goodbye, Sydney. I'm leaving as soon as the helicopter arrives."

"No," she whispered chokingly in denial, half sitting and inching backwards. His words had her stiffening, her breath coming in short, noisy gasps. Another agonized cry of denial escaped her lips before she could clamp her palm to her mouth to silence the following hiccupping sob. He sat up and thwarted her attempt to stand by clamping his hand around her wrist and pulling her close against him, knowing she was too shocked to fight him off.

"Hey." His hand tucked loose ribbons of hair behind her ears so that he could have an unobstructed view of her face. The face that was a myriad of emotions, the same ones that still churned through his veins. But he was too self-controlling to let anyone, even her, fully see them. Ethan gently grasped her chin and tried to pull her face towards him, but Sydney caught him unaware, violently jerking her face away and twisting out from under his grasp. "Sydney!" he called after her, his feet unfortunately tangling in the sheets so that all he heard was the resounding slam of the bathroom door, followed by the click of the lock.

Sighing, Ethan propped his hands on the doorframe and hung his head in defeat. Hearing her sobbing through the door, he closed his eyes and let his forehead touch the door. He could feel time slow as he allowed his heart to ache for her, knowing that she would bear the brunt of the forthcoming events. Minutes passed, and eventually her noisy sobs turned to soft crying. "Sydney. Sweetheart. Open the door. _Please_." Nothing.

"Syd—I don't want to leave. Not like this."

The lock clicked as she moved it back and the door slowly opened. "Then don't go," she begged before throwing herself at him and winding her arms around his neck. "I don't think I can do this without you."

"You have to, Sydney." He leaned back, forced her head up so he could meet her eyes. "If not for yourself, do it for me. For the baby. Just _don't give up_." He knew, if nothing else, that he had to make a point of telling her that. When she didn't respond, his hands wrapped around her upper arms and pushed her away. "Promise me, Sydney. Promise that you'll do this. Promise you won't give up."

Biting her lower lip, she finally nodded and whispered softly, "I promise."

"Good." And then, because she appeared on the verge of collapse, he led her to her bed and tucked her naked body amongst the sheets. He lay behind her, feeling a sense of déjà vu from earlier that morning as he wrapped his arm around her waist.

"I love you," she told him, her tired eyes locked on his as her hand reaching up to caress his jaw.

And because he couldn't refrain from responding, though he knew it would hurt her to hear the words only to have them followed by him leaving her, he said, "I love you too."

Once again, she fell asleep and he untangled himself from her. He turned at the door, and allowed his gaze to linger on her sleeping form one last time. And then he closed the door softly behind him, returning to his room to pack.

The time for being Ethan was over. He had to resurrect the dormant, unfeeling part of himself. He would allow himself one last gesture as Ethan, a few gifts he would leave behind for her to find when she had the courage to confront the memories they'd made together.

**********

The bedside clock's growing green numerals informed Sydney that it was mid-afternoon. She instinctively knew that Ethan was no longer lying behind her, but her eyes searched the room anyway. She also knew he wouldn't have left without telling her goodbye, so Sydney took her time crawling out of her bed and finding clothing in her drawers that she slowly tugged on.

She was in the bathroom brushing her teeth when she caught sight of her red eyes and puffy skin. The sight startled her so much that her hand stilled its movement. She leaned closer to the mirror so she could study her reflection better. Those were her eyes looking back at her; she knew that, but she didn't recognize herself in them anymore. Somewhere between the hundreds of disguises, the constant search for a cause worth fighting for, and the betrayals that ripped her apart time and time again, Sydney had lost track of herself.

And now, this body she had refined into a fine-tuned tool would be instrumental in bringing another life into the world. The irony did not escape her. She couldn't laugh with joy at the thought of being pregnant, much though she'd always longed exactly for this. And yet, she refused to cry that it had gone from a notion to a reality. She had the forthcoming seven and a half months to cry.

After all, wasn't this betrayal of her own body just the latest in a long line of betrayals? Did one more even matter anymore?

Slowly, she moved away from the mirror and resumed brushing her teeth. If she couldn't change the fact that she was pregnant, then she would take to heart the only motherly duty it seemed her mother would allow her. She would care for and nourish her body and her child as well. It was more than her own mother could claim at the moment.

It was late afternoon by the time he was done with his list of tasks. Everything he wanted to take was packed in a single suitcase and sitting at the head of the path that led to the helipad. More importantly, strategically placed boxes, identically wrapped, had been hidden throughout the house. Some he knew it would take her longer to find than others, but she had a long, lonely, unexciting stay on the island ahead of her. Other gifts he had entrusted to Maria to be given at her discretion. Her eyes had twinkled happily at him as she'd taken the gifts from him, flashing him a mischievous smile. Ethan wasn't quite sure why it mattered so much to him that the forethought in procuring the gifts had earned him the approval of a household servant.

Maria had told him that she'd seen Sydney head for the beach after she'd eaten a late lunch, so Ethan headed that way knowing he could simultaneously keep an eye out for the arrival of the helicopter. He chose to not acknowledge Sasha, who sat cross-armed and stiff next to the luggage.

He found her on the hammock, exactly where he knew he'd find her.

The eyes she lifted towards him were marred with a pained resignation of her fate. "No chance I could convince you to take me with you, is there?" And then her lips twisted into a wry half-smile that told him she already knew the answer and was coming to terms with it.

"Always have to cover all your bases, don't you?" he asked, smiling.

"Can you blame me?"

"Not in the least, love. You're a spy. It's how your mind was trained to think, after all. Can't blame you for that."

"Just my mind, huh? Gonna still blame me for everything else then?" She was grinning now, the teasing banter relaxing the palpable tension between them.

"But of course, Sydney darling. _You're_ the woman around here. _Everything's_ your fault."

She laughed, the sound music to his aching heart. "You horrible, opinionated, anti-feminist, pompous bastard!" she giggled. "What _would_ your mother have to say about you?" She grabbed his hand and tugged him into the hammock with her, shifting until he sat behind her and her head was pillowed in the crook of his neck.

"Well," he whispered in her ear conspiratorially, "we'll never know for sure what my mother would say. But I'm sure she'd probably grab hold of my ear, haul me into a dark corner, and give me a good thrashing for that and then some."

Sydney chuckled at that. "Oh, you deserve that and so much more."

"Probably so," he agreed, letting silence fall between them. The sky began shifting colors as the end of the day neared.

There were things she wanted to say, things she wanted him to say. But Sydney preferred the silence and the comfort of spending their moments like this, wrapped in each other's arms. She supposed it went back to the old adage that actions spoke louder than words.

Then again, couldn't that be applied to his leaving as well? Was his pending departure the result of loyalty as it was to Irina Derevko, or that his love for Sydney and his desire to protect her outweighed his need to be with her? Somehow, she was sure that it wasn't completely one or the other, but rather a combination of factors too complex to be teased apart and analyzed easily. In the end, it was just easier to accept and hold on to what she knew and try not to look too hard into the unknown.

The crash of the surf soothed her anxieties. Shifting, she laced her fingers through his and their arms wrapped around her comfortingly. She sighed, not happily and not out of satisfaction, but nor was it a sigh of annoyance or unhappiness. She just felt… like the moment existed for what it was and that it was nothing more.

When he spoke, his mouth was so close to her ear that his lips brushed her ear lobe and the disruption of air caused an involuntary shiver to overcome her. "This is really happening, isn't it?"

It was a question voiced with a sincerity that tugged at her heart. She didn't ask what specifically he referred to, because all of it—their falling more in love every day, the baby, his leaving—was happening. So she answered instead—"If I told you no, would you stay?" Her teasingly hopeful tone belied how she felt, but it earned her a pleasing low chuckle in her ear.

"You're relentless."

"What's does my persistence earn me, then?"

"My heart, of course, love." His head bent forward and she felt his nose nuzzling her neck and she giggled.

"My what a big reward… giving me something I'd already had."

He mumbled something indistinguishable, and, if possible, pulled her closer into his embrace. At that moment, Sydney became aware of a distant sound. Looking to the west, the direction the helicopter always came from, she saw the familiar dot far in the distance.

"Ethan. They're here," she informed him softly, her throat closing as reality settled in further. His only response was to lower their joined hands over her lower stomach, above the miracle their love had created. She knew without looking that his gaze was fastened on the quickly approaching helicopter too.

Afraid that if she didn't make a move now that she never would be able to let him go, Sydney mustered all her courage to break free of his embrace and move to the side. "You should go." The sound of the helicopter was loud enough to be heard distinctly.

His eyes fastened on hers, he too climbed out of the hammock, reaching for her hands to help her out as well. Her knees were weak and she stood in front of him unsteadily, her hands fisted in his suit jacket. His hands cupped her elbows for extra support while his bright blue eyes searched hers—what for, she wasn't sure.

The wind began to stir as the helicopter reached and hovered over the island, slowly sinking out of her peripheral vision. Pieces of her hair escaped her ponytail to whip around her face.

"You won't be back, will you?"

He shook his head. "No. Too dangerous."

She nodded, biting her bottom lip to keep her cry of agony from escaping. His hands released her elbows in favor of wrapping around her and hugging her tight.

In her right ear she heard, "I love you."

Squeezing her eyes tightly shut, tears beginning to fall down her cheeks, she replied, "I know." She pulled back enough to open her eyes and stare into his eyes as she desperately told him, "I love you, too."

Ethan leaned forward, his lips covering hers one final time. She could taste her tears, salty and metallic. "Take care of yourself, Sydney," he told her, one hand moving to tuck her hair behind her ears.

She whispered, "Okay," but it was lost to the wind as he released her and distanced them by taking a step back. He began to turn away, but she cried his name desperately and his movement halted. "Be careful."

"I will." The last thing she saw was the trademark smirk he flashed at her as he walked away. Her knees finally gave and she collapsed in the sand, sobbing into her hands.

Ethan didn't look back, because he knew that if he did he wouldn't be able to leave her. And he had to.

A path through the underbrush led him to the helicopter where an impatient Sasha glowered at him for prolonging his visit to the island. Knowing that Sasha had brought his suitcase, Ethan chose to ignore the man.

From his seat, Ethan watched as the island disappeared from his vision so that water and the setting sun were all he could see for miles in every direction.

It was ironic how the time of his departure would be at sunset. The sun was setting on day, dropping from view much the way his heart sank more the further he was distanced from Sydney.

No longer would he allow himself to enjoy his former favorite part of the day the way he had allowed himself to do on the island. This day would forever change how he viewed every sunset from now until his death.

Today, the sun would set on Ethan. Tomorrow it would rise on Sark.

**AN:** One final plea for reviews! Please? With a cherry on top? Does it help if I tell you I've already got a full 2 pages for chapter 11? Yeah, I thought it might… *wink*


	11. Moving On

**Story**: Once Upon A Time

**Author**: Steph, aka Fanatic482 (stephanie406@att.net) 

**Disclaimer**: Alias and the characters of the show aren't mine. They belong to JJ Abrams, ABC, Bad Robot Productions, etc etc

**Rating**: PG-13 overall, individual chapters that are R will be marked as such

**Spoilers/Summary**: Sequel to "Beyond All Limits"; General Season 1 Spoilers; Sydney and Sark on a private island with one Prophecy goal to fulfill

**Distribution**: Cover Me, Sarkgasm, Dark Enigma yes; all other please ask first

**Thanks To**: Glenna (carmensandiego1) and Nicole (CG4) for the betas!

**Authors Note**: Well, whaddya know… it's been less than multiple months between chapters! That's like, a new record… well, new recent record… hee. Read. Enjoy. Review!

Larry had rescued her from the beach that day—the day that Ethan left and her world tipped topsy-turvy all over again. Larry didn't get too personal, and that really was just fine by Sydney. He served as her "watchdog" for all intensive purposes—making sure she at least attempted eating three meals a day, organized a pregnancy-friendly workout routine, and, oddly enough, he was also serving as her OB/GYN.

She had regarded very few people with the suspicion as she did Larry the day he informed her he would be performing an ultrasound. He'd gone on to reassure her that he'd had adequate training. It was a great source of amusement for her that her technology-savvy midwife was a beefy bodyguard who, irony of all ironies, was actually in possession of an IQ.

She'd asked to not hear or see anything he was doing—she thought it would be easier that way. All she wanted was that her baby at least be born healthy. All she needed was the comfort of the gentle swelling of her belly as a reminder. Everything else was unnecessary peripheral detail.

She missed him—Ethan. She missed the banter, the friendship, the comfortable routines they'd settled into. But mostly she just missed him. Because without him, nothing seemed special. That "nothing" encompassed her first, and likely to be only, pregnancy struck Sydney as infinitely sad.

Someday, her mother would pay for this.

**********

To all appearances, for those who cared to observe, it looked as if he'd settled back into his former life as if he'd never left it at all.

He spent a week catching up on three months worth of information. He paid special attention to SD-6, devoting another week of his time to closely inspecting their activity within the three-month time span. He'd been quite interested, but not surprised, to discover the still standing order for Sydney's death. What had surprised him was that the order had been made out as an open-ended contract, to pay whoever supplied SD-6 with her, dead or alive. He would have to take care of that, see if Sloane was interested in maybe working out a deal, or at the very least allowing the contract to be bought out.

And knowing he could do little else for Sydney than to keep an eye out for the people she cared for, he spent another week researching the status of Jack Bristow, Michael Vaughn, Will Tippin, and Francine Calfo. He'd laughed at how easy Will and Francie had been to find—the U.S. government had a long way to go before they learned the proper art of making people disappear.

This fourth week, he would devote to reestablishing himself with certain contacts with uncertain or too flexible loyalties. He'd allowed himself enough time to gain control of his anger and rage—pity the souls who would be on the receiving end of his need to cause destruction. It was time for Mr. Sark to return to the world in the way he best knew how—violence.

**********

On day one hundred and twenty-two, a month into her island solitude, Sydney found herself walking slowly, absorbing the unchanged details of the rooms she'd spent so much of her time in but had never really examined. A muted cream paint colored the walls, perfectly matching the color of the soft shag carpet beneath her bare feet. The furniture was covered in a darker shade of cream, patterned silk brocade that slid beneath her fingers when her hands settled on the back of the loveseat. She paused as she recalled details of that fateful forty-seventh day when she'd first entered this room.

A flash of light in her peripheral vision caught her attention, and Sydney turned towards it and faced the bedroom. Her curiosity aroused, she walked into the room she'd studiously avoided, facing the room of her happiest memories quicker than she otherwise would have.

Her breath caught in her throat when she finally was able to distinguish what had caught her eye. There, sitting in the middle of the neatly made bed, sat a beautifully wrapped present. No—not a present, nor a gift; both of those implied strings of emotional attachment, relationships, and human partiality that neither of them could afford to leave traces of. This box and its contents were not joyfully being given from benefactor to recipient. Ethan was not here to do so, and therefore it was just a box. A box housing something he'd intended her to have when she was able to face their past, as she was coming to do.

And yet, it was too beautiful to just be what she wanted it to be. It couldn't be just a box, wrapped as it was in a glinting metallic sapphire hue that was painfully reminiscent of Ethan's eyes when desire darkened them.

Her footsteps halting and painfully slow, Sydney neared the bed, gingerly sitting on the edge of the cream silk comforter. Tentatively her right hand reached out and she allowed her fingers to brush the pale blue bow that perfectly offset the wrapping paper. It was heavy in her hand when she finally grasped the edge and tugged it near. Her hands slipped under the box and gently transferred it to rest on her lap, where she stared dazedly at it for a moment.

When she'd finally found the courage to put her hand on the doorknob as she had been unable to do for the past three weeks, she'd hardly dared to wonder when she would find courage enough to open the door and enter the suite. Determination had played a large part in her actions today, to overcome the weakness she saw in herself and despised. And now, here she was, having to confront the completely unexpected, for she would never have thought he would leave something for her—it was too sentimental, too concrete and tangible when compared to breathy words and hushed declarations.

When nudged, the ribbon easily slipped off of the box. The lid was removed to reveal pale blue tissue paper that matched the bow and was so thin that Sydney wondered if it would disintegrate at her touch. It remained intact as she gently tugged it aside, the sound crinkling loudly in the silence. Nestled beneath the many layers of tissue paper lay a leather bound book. Her knuckles brushed softly against the cover before she lifted it free of the box. Her thumbs lightly caressed as her eyes assessed what she held. A deep midnight blue in color, the leather was soft and supple, of a quality she knew that designers lived to use. This gift, for she knew she could call it that now, had been expensive, but more importantly, it had been chosen with her in mind.

Sydney eased the cover back, her fingers trailing over the heavy page where an unfamiliar hand had written her full name on the solitary line. The tight, sharply slanted script belonged to him, she knew—one more piece of the enigma he was. She breathed in the unique blend of ink, leather, and new pages.

Sensing that he had left more in the book than just her name, she lifted the first page away, revealing that the page below was filled with more of the distinctively lettered words. She didn't want to read this, effectively his last words to her, but she began to anyway.

_Knowing that I would have to leave you at some point, a strangely altruistic urging prompted my purchase of this journal for you long before our arrival. The purpose was not of sentimental origins, for we had yet to know each other. Solely, my intent was to give you an outlet when other resources were no longer available. And that time has arrived. Now, I only wish I could do more._

_I never intended to love you, Sydney. You challenge me constantly, teaching me more about life, love and humanity than I'd ever dreamed I held the capacity to understand or acknowledge. Funny thing, isn't it, how I have never in my life wanted something so much as I want and need you._

_Know that I do love you, and always will. Necessity dictates this course of action, for the rules of the game cannot be rewritten mid-game, not when you lack control of the outcome. This is my gift to you—preservation._

_I hope that someday you will understand, and possibly forgive me._

_Take care, Love._

Sobs filled the silence, and through the tears that streamed unchecked down her face Sydney watched in horror as a tear splattered on to the page, blurring the final word. She frantically grabbed at the hem of her T-shirt and used it in attempt to blot away the moisture. The effort was futile.

Now the page, and his tender term of endearment for her, was forever marred by her tears—just as she was.

**********

Sark had made the mistake of underestimating Jack Bristow's need for knowledge of his daughter's condition. While he was aware that his recent activity would have gained him certain recognition of his return to the status of dangerous individual, Sark hadn't quite counted on Jack Bristow hunting him down, especially in a public place such as a restaurant rather than a place more conducive to questioning.

"Derevko told me where I might locate you," the elder man said.

"Well, in that case, please," Sark motioned to the chair across from himself, "do join me." He tilted his head to the side, studying the man as he pulled the chair out and sat. He looked, well, older. Weary. Then again, he had not physically seen the man in four months. "I'm afraid I've already ordered, Jack—"

"I didn't come to eat."

"Why, then, are you here?" he asked pleasantly, reaching for the open wine bottle to refill his glass before offering the bottle, which Jack surprisingly took. "I'm assuming that, if Irina informed you where to find me, you're not here to take me into custody."

"No. Not that I wouldn't like to, but she made me give my word." Jack's mouth twisted in such a way that left nothing to interpret about what he thought about the situation. "I'm here inquiring as to my daughter's well-being. Derevko has continued to insist that she will not be released for awhile yet."

Genuinely puzzled, he protested, "But I have not seen Sydney in a month, sir. I'm not sure I can be the authority on her current condition."

Jack's eyes narrowed. "Don't be difficult, Sark. Your employer has spent the past four months assuring me that you were taking care of my daughter while she was in your custody. If I am to understand correctly what she was implying about your relationship with my daughter, I would hope you wouldn't be so careless as to rejoin the world without some way to maintain some semblance of surveillance of her." He settled back in his seat, took a sip of the wine he had poured for himself, a look of pleasant surprise flashing over his face before he trained his signature stone cold gaze on Sark again. "Now. What do you have to tell me about her?" he questioned in a way that was much more a demand than a request. It seemed Sydney had inherited that quality from both of her parents, really.

Considering he received status update calls from Larry, he would have been lying to continue the hypothesized scenario of ignorance. "She's fine—healthy, relaxed. Spends her time tanning and reading." He paused, wondering if he could trust Jack Bristow enough to detail any more. "Will any of this be relayed back to the CIA?"

"So far, everything, yes."

"If I asked for your word to not repeat certain things, I could tell you more."

Jack straightened in his chair. "I'm listening."

"Your word, if you please, Mr. Bristow."

He sighed, too dignified to roll his at the technicality of the formality. "You have my word."

Sark hesitated a moment, knowing this was a moment that could never be retrieved and could possibly put him in deep hot water with Irina if Jack connected the dots. Finally, he gazed elsewhere as he quietly informed Sydney's father "She's pregnant. About 11 weeks along, I believe." The silence became deadly and he finally returned his gaze to Jack, who, though quiet, looked immensely angry and dangerous.

"If my daughter's pregnant and you fathered that child, what the hell are you doing here?" It was delivered quietly, and there was no denying the accusation.

"You mean, why did I leave her? Why am I not there with her? Well, sir, I'm afraid you'd have to ask your wife about those details. I was not privy to them."

Jack stood, buttoning his suit jacket with one hand as another pulled a piece of paper from his pants pocket. "If there's anything else I need to be informed about regarding Sydney, you can reach me at this number." The paper, which turned out to be a business card, was dropped next to Sark's wine glass. "My word still holds for future information." With that, the man was gone.

_A most interesting encounter_, Sark mused, picking up his wine glass and swirling the liquid, staring into its depths contemplatively. _Yes, most interesting…_

**********

For a week, Sydney glanced at the journal sitting on her bedside table. Occasionally she ran her fingers across the surface, wishing she were caressing his face instead. Finally she dared to open it again where her name written in his hand on the page mesmerized her.

It was another three days before she had the courage to take a pen to the first blank page.

Her words were tentative at first. But as days passed, she began to face the truth as words poured forth from the deepest, darkest places in her heart. Truths—of her, of him, of her parents, her circumstances, and even the few wishes she hoped for her unborn child and her future—were written, left as a permanent commemoration of fleeting thoughts representing the rainbow of her life.

Despite it all, she only loved him more at the end of the day.

**********

Little changed for Sydney in the passing days and weeks and months. She still missed him. She still cried for no reason at all. Her belly continued to grow, and Larry continued to watch after her.

After finding the first gift, she had become a little more adventurous in her exploration of the house—and her confrontation of her memories. The gifts had a curious ability to simultaneously make her want to cry and laugh.

There had been a memory diary under the den couch.

She found a new bottle of sun block hidden in her medicine cabinet.

Maria had unending stores of jars of pickles of all varieties and canned tuna fish, as well as the most comprehensive collection of sparkling juices and flavored waters she'd ever seen. Sydney still smiled, albeit a bit sadly, at dinner when a wine glass of a non-alcoholic beverage was served with her meal.

She discovered a room filled with instruments and accompanying beginner's instruction manuals. She'd wondered if he'd gone mad till she found a note teasing her that their baby should be musically cultured if nothing else.

No matter what else she found, Sydney felt pretty secure in thinking that nothing could be a better gift than the journal. Except maybe Ethan's return—that would be better than any material gift he could have left behind.

If not for the promise she'd made to him, Sydney may have contemplated an existence other than this one… Without Ethan, she could take no pleasure in the pregnancy. And because of her mother, Rambaldi, and a fucking probably fake prophecy, the end result made caring about so many things pointless to a degree of desolation she had never before known existed.

**********

Michael Vaughn was surprised when he received a phone call from Jack Bristow. But when all Jack said was, "You need to move on with your life, Agent Vaughn. Forget about my daughter," Michael was inclined to sit in stunned silence until a passing concerned coworker stepped into his cubicle and removed the phone from his hand. There were only two possibilities: Sydney was dead, or somehow she'd moved on with her life without him.

**AN**: Don't forget to review! Gimme a reason to get the last (yes I said _last_) chapter written… 


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